Snake Bites
by Sheriff1985
Summary: A first-year full of Weasley cousins in Albus, Rose and Louis takes its first steps into a wizarding world that suddenly feels all too close to the muggle Britain that's still clear in their new friends' memories. Meanwhile, a new Head of Slytherin finds himself meeting old friends and facing old enemies as the reputation of his House hangs in the balance (M for Language).
1. Prologue

Albus Potter's black fringe hung loosely over his forehead as the eleven-year-old boy sat, staring blankly across the table at his aunt.

'So you see, children,' Hermione Weasley continued, seemingly oblivious to her nephew's vague expression, 'it is essential that we support the education of muggle-born children to the fullest extent possible, and that means giving them our full support in integrating into the magical community.'

Albus' attention began to wander around the kitchen, drifting from his aunt's speech to the other children sitting around the table. On his left, one of his cousins, Rose Weasley was gazing back at her mother, absorbed in her words, whilst to his right, another cousin looked as disinterested as Albus felt. Louis Weasley, red-headed and freckled, was tracing aimless patterns around the whorls of wood on the oak table-top.

'Oh, that's a wonderful idea, mum!' Rose gushed. 'I'm sure that will be a great help for the new muggle-borns to settle in to Hogwarts.'

'I'm delighted that you think so, darling,' Hermione beamed. 'We will meet the new students on Tuesday,' she continued.

Louis looked up from the table. 'Um,' he began, uncertainly. 'Sorry, Aunt Hermione, but what's this got to do with us?'

Albus' ears pricked as he heard his cousin's question, echoing his own thoughts as it did. The woman took a deep breath, turning to face the redhead and speaking in a slow, clear tone.

'There are three muggle-born children this year, Louis,' she explained, 'two boys and one girl. These three children need buddies, children from magical families, to help them settle into the magical world.'

'But…'

'But nothing, Louis!' Hermione snapped. 'This is my initiative and if it is to succeed then I _must_ have the support of the family, and that is final!'

Louis slumped back against the slats of his chair, letting his long fringe fall over his eyes, and Albus swallowed, suddenly realising that the mother and daughter's attention would soon be coming his way.

'What do you think, Albie?' Rose turned to face her cousin. 'You think it's a good idea, don't you?'

Albus shrugged. 'I guess,' he murmured, gathering himself to question his aunt. 'Hogwarts starts this weekend, though, doesn't it? When are we going to meet them?'

Hermione smiled. 'I will explain the plan at a Hogwarts staff meeting tomorrow morning, and you will be taken to meet the other children on Tuesday.'

Albus blinked. 'Who's taking us?'

'I shall be taking Rose,' Hermione continued, 'and Min… Professor McGonagall tells me that she has a new member of staff in mind who will be very well-suited to looking after the boys.'

'Do we have any choice in it?' Louis began to argue, but the woman's raised voice quickly quelled his protest.

'No, Louis,' she cocked her neck. 'To put it simply, you don't.'

The eleven-year-old boy stood up sharply, shoving the wooden chair backwards behind him and letting it fall with a clatter to the tiled floor as he stormed from the kitchen.

'Fine,' Albus accepted, with a short nod, before getting to his feet and meandering back to the clutches of an old, red leather armchair and a copy of _Quidditch Quarterly_. There was nothing he could do about his aunt's plan, he reasoned, so there was nothing to be gained from arguing back as his cousin had done.

He might as well just get on with it.


	2. Floo Powder

'Bennett?' A sharp voice echoed across the open-plan living area of the London flat that Greg Bennett had shared with his old school friend, Theo Forrest, for the five years since they had graduated from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

'Coming...' Greg groaned, blinking the sleep out of his eyes as he grabbed for the wristwatch on his bedside table. 'Six thirty...?' He muttered. 'Who wants to see me this badly?'

'Bennett!' The voice called out again.

'I said I was coming!' The man shouted back, pushing himself to his feet and pulling the nearest shirt he could find over the untidy crop of his hair, which, though blond in his childhood, was now much closer to a light brown. He lifted his wand from the top of the dresser, raising it defensively in front of him, and pushed open his bedroom door. 'Hello...?' He offered. 'Who's there?' He flicked a light switch, straining to notice the outline of a face in the false fireplace. 'Professor McGonagall...?'

'You may call me Minerva now, Gregory,' McGonagall's face creased into a thin smile, 'and a good morning to you.' She glanced around the flat. 'I see you keep the place in order.'

'That's Theo's,' Greg defended himself, suddenly feeling very much like a teenager once again. He reached inside his fridge, pouring himself a glass of orange juice before settling onto a wooden-topped stool beside the kitchen table. 'What do you want?'

'I'd like to be asked in, for starters,' McGonagall commented, wryly. 'It gets awfully cramped in these things after a few minutes.'

'Yes, yes, of course,' Greg nodded, hurriedly. 'Please come in.'

'Thank you,' Minerva McGonagall's head and body rose gracefully up through the grate of the fireplace and into the man's flat. 'Now,' she continued, 'What were your plans for the day?'

The man shrugged, swallowing a mouthful of his drink. 'Nothing much. Just a typical Monday in the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office.'

'Sounds like fun,' McGonagall rolled her eyes. 'Tell me, Gregory, is this what you imagined when you left Hogwarts?'

'Not really,' he sighed, 'but what am I going to do about it now? I suppose I'll get a move at some stage, get a promotion...' He shook his head. 'Are you still teaching?'

'Not exactly,' McGonagall's eyes sparkled. 'How should I put this?' She paused. 'Several of the... more senior members of staff – that is to say, Horace, Filius and I – have decided that now is the time to... to pass on the flame.'

Greg stared back at the former Headmistress. 'Who's taking over?' He asked bluntly, still feeling the effects of the early hour.

'A number of people,' she replied. 'Several subjects need teachers, and several Houses need Heads.'

'Why are you telling me this?'

'Mr Bennett,' McGonagall addressed him like one of her erstwhile pupils. 'One of the subjects which needs a teacher is Transfiguration, and one of the Houses which needs a Head is Slytherin. Can you think of anyone who would be suited to this task?'

Greg coughed on his mouthful of orange, spraying the juice all over the table. 'Sorry, Prof... er... Minerva, I mean.' He swallowed, noticing the spilled drink. 'Scourgify.' The stain vanished, and the man returned his attention to his visitor. 'You're not serious? You can't be serious...' He blinked. 'You are serious.'

McGonagall smiled. 'To look after yourself, sometimes you need other people's help.'

'I remember hearing that before.' Greg's forehead wrinkled in thought. 'Who said it?'

'You did, as I recall,' McGonagall's thin smile broadened. 'At the age of eleven, when I asked you whether or not Slytherin was indeed the right place for you.'

Greg took a moment to look around the walls of his flat, taking in the photographic memories of his seven years at the school, with four pictures of Quidditch Cup success taking pride of place. 'I think I was right,' he offered.

'I know you were,' the old teacher nodded. 'That was the moment when I realised you were no ordinary Slytherin. So,' she pressed him, 'who better to preserve the legacy?'

'I'm only 23,' he protested. 'I've never taught anyone before...'

'I was 21,' McGonagall paid him no heed, 'and you were a Quidditch Captain for three years, as well as taking more than your fair share of study lessons.'

Greg shook his head. 'I wouldn't know where to begin...'

'I will be able to pass on a few hints,' she regarded him with a thoughtful stare. 'I've been doing this job for long enough. Unless, of course,' she paused, 'you'd rather spend another day dealing with exploding toilets?'

The man allowed himself a wry smile.

'Seven o'clock,' McGonagall nodded to the tray of floo powder by the fireplace, throwing a handful into the grate before taking her leave. 'The Headmaster's Office, Hogwarts.'

Greg watched his former Headmistress depart, before staring down into the bottom of his now-empty glass and rubbing his eyes in near disbelief. 'Never be surprised by anything,' he murmured, remembering something McGonagall had said during his own first year; a phrase that he had turned into a watchword for the Slytherin Quidditch team under his captaincy. He got to his feet, walking the short distance across the apartment to knock on his best friend's bedroom door. 'Theo!' He knocked again, more loudly. 'Theo!'

An unintelligible groan told him that the other man was awake, and Greg pushed the door open.

'Greg...?' Unlike his friend, Theo Forrest's hair hadn't settled down with age, and its blond strands still fell wildly over his eyes as he struggled into consciousness.

'McGonagall just flooed me,' he wasted no time on pleasantries. 'She's retiring,' he swallowed. 'She wants me to replace her.'

Theo gazed up at his friend for a moment, before suddenly grasping what the other man had told him. 'That's awesome, mate!' He beamed.

'You think so?' Greg did a double-take.

'Sure!' Theo stood up, pushing his duvet covers off. 'You don't seriously want to stay at the Ministry do you?'

Greg took a step backwards, looking his friend up and down. 'Is that what you went out in last night?' He asked. 'What time did you get in?'

'How often do you knock Bigonville out of the Champions League?' Theo shrugged, and Greg couldn't help but smile.

'Good night?'

'The bit I remember was.'

Greg laughed.

'So, when are you going?'

'I'm not sure if I am,' Greg shuddered.

'What? Are you mad?' Theo shook the remainder of his fringe out of his eyes. 'Oh, right,' a sly smile crossed his lips. 'You're shitting yourself, aren't you? Don't deny it! It's just like you were when you got made Quidditch Captain...'

Greg opened his mouth to protest, only to discover that he couldn't find words that argued back against his friend's teasing. 'I... I guess.'

'Well, we all know how that turned out in the end, don't we?' Theo pointed across the apartment, to the series of victorious team photographs that his friend had already looked at once that morning. 'You'll be great! When do you start?'

'McGonagall asked me to be there at seven.'

'Tonight?'

'This morning.'

'Hang on... that's in, like...' Theo blinked, focusing on the roman numerals that circled a simple clock above the fireplace, 'fifteen minutes!' He cuffed his friend over the side of the head.

'Hey!' Greg complained. 'What was that for?'

'To try and knock some sense into you, you daft git!' Theo laughed. 'Honestly, mate, I can't believe we're even discussing this! Get some bloody clothes on, and get yourself up there!'

'You really think so...?' Greg hesitated.

'I _know_ so,' the other man smiled. 'Now get on with it, and let me go back to sleep. I'll see you tonight, mate.'

Greg allowed himself a thin smile, closing Theo's bedroom door as his friend got back into bed. 'Sometimes you need other people's help to look after yourself,' Greg whispered to himself, recalling McGonagall's words a few minutes earlier. 'I don't think I realised just how right I was.'

'Ah, Mr Bennett. Excellent.' A businesslike voice, belonging to a woman that Greg didn't immediately recognise, greeted him as he emerged from the fireplace of the Headmaster's Office at two minutes past seven. There were around twenty wizards and witches gathered around a long rectangular table: and as Greg looked up and down, he realised that he didn't recognise more than a handful of their faces. He knew enough of them, however, to be able to work out that this get-together must have been a staff meeting.

'Please take a seat.' Greg followed the woman's instructions, trying to keep as low a profile as possible as he slipped between two older wizards.

'Hi, Greg,' the man on his left, a few inches taller than the newcomer, and with short black hair, whispered to him. 'Long time since I saw you.'

'Hi,' Greg's reply was stilted, but he was saved from having to admit that he couldn't recognise his new colleague when the woman who had greeted him spoke up again.

'So, as I was saying,' she shuffled a stack of papers on the table in front of her, 'that concludes our appointments for the new academic year. Gregory Bennett joins us to teach Transfiguration, and as Head of Slytherin House, Tara Lyttle will be taking on Potions, and I will be teaching Charms... as well as taking over from Neville as Deputy Head, and Head of Gryffindor,' she paused. 'Neville, of course, becomes the Headmaster, but will be continuing his teaching role in Herbology. Finally,' she peered closely at the notes in front of her, 'Neal Kennedy replaces Filius as Head of Ravenclaw.'

Greg looked to his left again as he heard the last name to be announced, and allowed himself a smile as he realised who his neighbour was. Neal Kennedy had been a seventh-year when Greg had started at Hogwarts, an opponent on the Quidditch pitch but a teacher in the History classroom.

'Hi, Neal,' Greg offered. 'Who's that?' He nodded towards the speaker.

'Hermione Weasley,' Neal took the chance to answer the other man's question whilst a polite round of applause acknowledged the new arrivals.

'Oh...' Greg nodded, recognising the woman's surname. 'Have you been here long?'

'Fifteen minutes,' Neal grinned, wickedly. 'Or three years. I'm guessing that's what you actually meant?'

'Your jokes haven't got any better since you taught me!' Greg shook his head. 'Has Binns stopped teaching altogether now?'

Neal nodded. 'Yes. About bloody time, too!'

'Thank you, thank you.' Hermione's voice, crisp and clear, brought the applause to an end. 'I trust all matters are in hand for the new year. New staff will expected to liaise with their predecessors regarding handover and curriculum. There will be no significant changes to school policy from last year: the significant change of staff will be more than enough upheaval for many of the students.'

'She certainly sounds like she knows what she's talking about, for someone who's never taught before,' Neal whispered in Greg's ear.

'How come she's Deputy Head, then?' Greg answered back. 'Why not someone who's been here longer?'

'I'm not sure if anyone else wanted it,' Neal shrugged. 'Too much like hard work for my liking, that's for sure! Nev says she's always been obsessed with Hogwarts, ever since she was a first-year.'

'There will be one change, however,' the Deputy Head announced, 'to the procedure for introducing muggle-born children to the wizarding world.' She re-ordered the stack of papers in her hands. 'For many years, children have been visited by professors once, sometimes several months before the start of their time at Hogwarts, and then left to their own devices. This is unfair.' The sharp edge of her stack of notes struck the polished surface of the Headmaster's table. 'Children need to learn from someone closer to their own age.'

'Well what do you suggest?' A dark-haired woman interrupted Hermione's speech. 'We send students?'

'Yes, Tara.' Hermione answered, coldly. 'We can send a wizard-born boy or girl, who will also be entering their first year at Hogwarts. The child will then be able to help them settle in on the Express, and at the school.'

Tara Lyttle looked back at Hermione scornfully. 'And if they prove to be in different Houses...?'

'Then they can still be friends! Nothing precludes children from different Houses forming friendships, Tara!'

'I beg your pardon, Hermione,' a man opposite Greg, a wizard with a bald head and a small, tufty moustache, spoke up, diffusing the tension before it could boil over into anything more. 'How will you find wizard-born children to meet these muggles? Surely, it cannot be compulsory?'

'No, Dylan,' Hermione smiled, taking a breath and obviously grateful for the opportunity to answer an easier question. 'It will be strictly voluntary. I would hope that wizarding families will rise to the responsibility.'

The man nodded. 'What about this year?'

'That is more straightforward,' Weasley allowed herself a grin. 'There are three muggle-borns, two boys and one girl. They will be partnered with my daughter, and two of my nephews, all of whom will be beginning their first year next month.'

'What about the staff?' Lyttle was not yet satisfied. 'Who gets the dubious pleasure of hosting these little get-togethers?'

'It is a role rather more suited to the muggle-borns amongst us, I admit,' Weasley looked across the table to Greg. 'I will happily bear part of the responsibility, and I would be delighted if Gregory would share it.'

'Me?' Greg swallowed. 'Already?'

'You're the only muggle-born bloke here, mate,' Neal pointed out, before lowering his voice so that Greg was the only one who could hear. 'Nev says you _really_ don't want to get on the wrong side of her.'

'It... It would be an honour,' Greg managed a weak smile.

'Excellent,' Hermione replied, briskly. 'Thank you. If you could meet me at home tomorrow morning – nine o'clock – we will take it from there. The Burrow, Ottery St Catchpole. So, unless anyone has anything else to say... this meeting is over.'

'What did I just agree to?' Greg had eagerly agreed to Neal's suggestion that they took a walk across the school grounds.

'Muggle duty, I think,' Neal grinned. 'Working out how to convince some freaked-out little kids that they're wizards.'

Greg rolled his eyes. 'Great...'

'You get some Weasley babysitting to do, too,' the older man couldn't hide his amusement. 'All the perks of being a fresher.'

'Don't,' Greg shook his head. 'I still haven't got my head round what just happened.'

'You signed your life away, Greg, that's what,' another man caught up to the pair, extending his arm in greeting.

'Professor Wood...' Greg gasped.

'Call me Oliver,' the man grinned, his voice thick with a Scottish accent. 'We're colleagues now. Although,' he added, 'I can't say I expected to see you back here. Had you down for a glorious career, I did.'

'Didn't fancy it,' Greg muttered, half-truthfully.

'Really?' Wood looked at him, a look of surprise etched on his face.

Greg sighed, looking away. 'I guess I didn't have the guts to go for it, more like... not like Theo and Zac. That's why they're playing for the Wasps and United, and I've spent five years pissing around at the Ministry. I'm too bloody scared of screwing up.'

'Hey, come on mate,' Neal chastised him. 'That's not true, and you know it. You won the Quidditch Cup as a firstie, for Merlin's sake...'

'I didn't win it,' Greg snapped. 'I missed the penalty! I was scared of screwing up then, and I still am now...'

'Hold up, Greg,' Wood's voice hardened. 'You're only kidding yourself if you really think that. I saw you here for seven years, mate, and you achieved more as a firstie than most people do in their whole lives.'

'It was other people...' Greg tried to protest, but Neal cut him off, joining in on his colleague's side.

'Oli's right,' he insisted. 'I remember that year, Greg, back when people wouldn't even piss on a Slytherin if they were on fire, and what did you do? You changed it all!' He held up his hand, keeping Greg from interrupting him whilst he paused for breath. 'Don't say it was the others, either, because it wouldn't have happened without you. That's you, Greg, you make other people do things they never thought they would be capable of. That year is why I decided I wanted to be a teacher, because of what I could see happening... the way I saw all you first-years grow up and change.'

Wood smiled as he heard the other teacher's words. 'Damn right, mate. That's what'll make you so good at this Greg. The fact that you want to believe in everyone. Just try believing in yourself half as much.'

Greg nodded, 'I guess...' he murmured. 'If you put it like that.'

'I do, mate,' Wood insisted. 'Now,' he switched into an obviously exaggerated classroom voice, 'I don't want to have this conversation with you again, is that clear?'

'Yes, sir,' Greg laughed. 'Crystal clear.'

Wood grinned. 'Good. You've got a job to do.'


	3. Muggle Borns

Hermione Weasley lived with her husband Ron, his parents, and their two children, Rose and Hugo, in a sprawling cottage named the Burrow on a rural hillside in the south west of England. Greg, having followed one key piece of advice from his new boss, Headmaster Longbottom, made sure that he would not be late for his appointment, and the tell-tale crack of Apparition echoed around the precarious-looking building at ten minutes to nine the following day.

'Mum! Mum! He's here!' An excitable voice greeted the new teacher as a young girl who, so Greg thought as she bounded along the dusty driveway towards him, looked remarkably like her mother, but for her flyaway ginger hair. 'Are you Professor Bennett?' she enquired, enthusiastically, before continuing without ever really having waited for the man to reply. 'Are you going to be teaching us Transfiguration this year? What are we going to be doing in the first lesson? Which page of the book is it going to be on? How long should it take me to be able to learn how to do it?'

'Rosie, Rosie!' An older man poked his head out of a garden shed on the side of the path. 'Let the man think!' His tone was firm, but he smiled as he chastised the girl. 'Arthur Weasley,' he extended his arm. 'Grandfather of Rose,' he hesitated, 'among others. I take it you are here to meet Hermione?'

'Yes, sir,' Greg replied, stiffly. 'I'm going to meet some of the new muggle-born children.'

'Call me _Arthur_ ,' the older man laughed, 'please.' He clapped an arm on Greg's shoulder, leading him up towards the main house. 'Hermione,' he called out, pushing the back door open. 'Visitor for you.'

As if on cue, Hermione Weasley emerged through the opposite doorway. 'Good morning, Gregory.'

'Good morning,' Greg answered.

'You are prepared, I trust?' She eyed a set of forms on the kitchen table. 'You know where you are going, and whom you are meeting?'

'Yes,' Greg nodded. It might only have been his second day as a professor, but he didn't need to be told every last detail of his work.

'Good,' Hermione looked up from the kitchen to a haphazard staircase that led up to the higher floors of the Burrow. 'Albus,' she called. 'You may as well be going.'

A few moments later, a small, tense-looking boy had made his way down the flight of stairs, presenting himself nervously by the kitchen table.

'Say good morning to Professor Bennett, Albus,' Hermione chided the boy, whose untidy black hair obscured all of his features as he stared determinedly at the tiled floor.

'Morning,' Albus mumbled.

'Good morning, Albus,' Greg responded, more brightly. 'Albus Potter, Harry's son?'

The eleven-year-old looked up at the teacher for a fraction of a second, before snapping his gaze back down to the floor.

'Come on, Albus,' Hermione prompted him, 'smarten yourself up a bit.' She pointed her wand towards him, snapping the hem of his cotton shirt into the top of a light green pair of corduroy knee-length shorts, and directing his fringe into line.

'Shall we be going, then?' Greg glanced to the Deputy Headmistress, and, realising she had nothing further to add, he reached out his right hand to take hold of Albus' left. 'Hold tight, mate,' he whispered, as the two of them vanished with the familiar crack.

Greg and Albus emerged moments later on a pavement beside a wide main road, a handful of feet from the curved back of a low wooden bench.

'Are you alright, Albus?' Greg noticed the eleven-year-old stumble. 'Have you Apparated much before?'

'Yes,' Albus answered hurriedly, only to blush as he looked up at the teacher and look away equally quickly. 'A bit...' he clarified.

'Let's have a sit down,' Greg suggested, taking two steps backward and slipping onto the bench behind them. 'Never been a big fan of Apparation myself,' he tapped the boy on the shoulder. 'Threw up all over my friend's kitchen the first time I tried it.'

Albus managed a small smile, which Greg returned as he remembered his conversation with Kennedy and Wood the previous day. Stealthily, keeping his wand under the cuff of his pale blue shirt, he reversed the two spells that Hermione had cast over her nephew before they had departed.

'Wh... why'd you do that?' Albus stammered, his face pale below a thin rash of freckles, as his shirt untucked itself. 'Aunt Hermione...'

'Aunt Hermione's not here, Albus,' Greg answered, calmly, 'and besides, I don't want this lad to meet someone putting on an act, someone pretending to be somebody he isn't. I want him to see a real person, hopefully someone he'll want to make friends with.'

'Should've brought James, then.' Albus sighed, fiddling with the newly untidy hem of his checked shirt. 'Everyone likes him.'

'He's your brother, right?'

Albus nodded.

'He's already at Hogwarts, isn't he?'

'Yeah,' the boy's voice was still quiet, and almost monotone. 'Starting his second year.'

'No good for me, then!' Greg tried to lighten the mood, but the eleven-year-old wasn't so easily cheered up. 'You don't really want to be here, do you?'

Albus shrugged.

'Fair enough,' the teacher looked up and down the main road. 'I understand that. Sometimes, though, things happen to us that we're not sure about, but when you give them a go, they turn out to be pretty good after all. I reckon I felt like you do now before my first Quidditch match, in my first year.'

The boy jerked upright almost instantly at the mention of the wizarding sport, and Greg noticed the vivid green tinge of his eyes for the first time. 'You played Quidditch... in your _first_ year?'

Greg smiled. 'Yes, I did. Want to hear about it?'

The eleven-year-old nodded, earnestly.

'Alright,' the man smiled. 'I'll do you a deal. You tell me a bit about yourself, so that I can properly introduce you to our new acquaintance when we find him, and I'll tell you about my Quidditch.'

'Deal,' Albus grinned.

'Brilliant,' Greg got to his feet. 'Now, first things first, let's make sure we're in the right place.'

'Are we meant to be in Oxford?' Albus asked.

'What?' The man started. 'How do you know that?'

Albus couldn't hide another grin as he pointed onto the main road. 'Cause there's a big red bus with "Oxford Bus Company" on the side.'

'Good point, well made,' the teacher laughed. 'Which means we are in the right place, so it's time to get cracking. I believe it's your turn to start, Albus...'

'You _won_ the Cup?' the eleven-year-old's eyes bulged with surprise. 'In your first year?'

'Yeah,' Greg nodded, 'we got a bit lucky, like I said, but we won. First time Slytherin had won in fifteen years.'

'You're going to be Head of Slytherin, aren't you?' Albus looked up at the man, inquisitively.

Greg nodded again, before reaching into the pocket of his trousers to check a map as the two wizards entered the wide, grassy expanse of a park. 'Yes, Al. I am.'

'Did you...' the boy hesitated, waiting for his companion to look directly at him once again before asking his next question. 'Did you ever think you wanted to be in a different House instead?'

'Good question,' Greg sighed, checking another piece of parchment as he noticed a pair of boys playing in the lower branches of a nearby oak. 'Seeing as it looks like we've got a bit of time before we can get our target on his own, I guess I might as well answer it.' He reached into the pocket again, pulling out a rug that was far too large to have reasonably been hidden within, and settled down on the fabric. 'It was difficult when I was little,' he admitted. 'People treated us like shit... Oh, sorry, Al,' he blushed, suddenly, as the boy grinned. 'Please don't tell your Aunt I said that.'

'I won't,' Albus agreed. 'As long as you don't tell my Dad if I swear.'

Greg hesitated for a moment, before agreeing. 'Fair enough. I know I swore when I was your age... just make sure you don't go round swearing _at_ people. There's a difference, you know.'

'Yeah,' Albus nodded, solemnly.

'Anyway,' the man continued, 'everyone thought we were just little Death Eaters... it was hard. We didn't have many friends, but we had each other. We decided that _Slytherins Stick Together_ , and we did.' He paused. 'I guess it helped when I met your Dad when you were tiny, only a few months old I guess, and he told me you were named after a Slytherin.'

'Severus...' Albus whispered.

'I loved it there, Al,' Greg admitted. 'Seven great years. I just hope it's still the same now, that it never goes back to what it was,' he finished, before waiting for a reply that never came. 'You'd make a good Slytherin,' he offered. 'That was the sort of deal we would make.'

Albus looked up at the teacher, unconvinced. 'James says I'll be in Slytherin. He says I'm not brave enough for Gryffindor.'

'James sounds like he's got a big mouth,' Greg suggested. 'Typical Gryffindor,' he shrugged, 'but anyway, it really doesn't matter what House you end up in. Some of my best friends were in the other Houses, and like Dumbledore once said, it's your choices, not your abilities, that decide who you really are.'

Wordlessly, Albus shuffled a few inches across the rug, moving close enough to the man to rest his head on Greg's arm. 'I don't think I'd mind if I did end up in Slytherin.'

The teacher patted Albus on the shoulder. 'The Hat will put you in the right place. If you do end up with us, you'll be welcome.'

The two wizards barely moved for the next quarter of an hour, chatting idly about Quidditch and Hogwarts, before Greg sat up abruptly, knocking Albus' head away. 'That's the boy,' he whispered, pointing, 'the brown-haired kid. Daniel Hamilton. Let's go.'

Hurriedly snatching up the rug, but deciding against trying to force it back into his trouser pocket, Greg followed Daniel the short distance to a low semi-detached house on the outskirts of the park. He allowed the unsuspecting boy a few moments' grace, before striding confidently along the garden path and up to the peeling blue paint of the front door.

'Hello?' The boy greeted him suspiciously, his hazel eyes staring back from underneath a rust-brown fringe.

'Oh, hello,' Greg replied, airily. 'Sorry to bother you... are your parents in?'

'My mum is,' Daniel answered, grudgingly. 'What do you want?'

'I'd like to talk to her.'

The boy groaned. 'Mum!' He turned around, pushing a door open inside the hallway. 'Someone wants to see you...'

'Come on, Al,' Greg whispered to the other wizard, beckoning him to follow over the threshold before ushering Daniel into a cramped front room that reeked of stale cigarette smoke. 'Good morning,' the teacher offered. 'Greg Bennett. I'd like to talk to you about education.'

Stephanie Hamilton looked back at him with a sneer. 'Education? Why would I want to talk to you about education?' She sat in a single, dirty armchair and turned to stare at the visitors.

'Let me be more specific,' Greg's tone grew colder. 'Your son's education.'

Stephanie's face formed into an icy glare. 'What the hell has he got to do with you? He's done nothing wrong, he hasn't!' She raised her voice over the shrill din of a daytime television programme.

Greg sighed. This was not the way this morning had been meant to unfold. 'I am a teacher at a boarding school in Scotland,' he declared, 'and we wish to offer your son a place.' The room fell quiet, but for the background gabble of the television, and Greg got the feeling that the woman was wondering whether to call the police. It was time for his deal-breaker, he realised. 'It's a boarding school for wizards.' Greg retrieved his wand from the inside of his sleeve, and pointed it towards the television with a flourish, switching the picture off and plunging the room into complete silence.

'What did you just do?' Daniel spoke up for the first time. 'How did you switch the TV off?' The eleven-year-old's face was part-muddy, part-suntanned, and he wore a dishevelled yellow football shirt, which was a couple of sizes too large for him, above a pair of boardshorts.

'It's my wand, Daniel,' Greg held it out.

'Don't touch it!' His mother snapped. 'You don't know where it's been!'

Greg bit back a comment suggesting that it would hardly make her son any more dirty, and moved his arm towards Albus. 'This is Al Potter. He's starting at the school in September, too.'

Albus took the wand, nervously, before handing it back to the teacher.

'Is there anything else you can do with it?' Daniel demanded. 'Could you turn the TV into, like, a shoebox?'

'Could I?' Greg allowed himself a grin. 'Let's find out.' He jabbed the wand towards the set, instantly replacing it with an empty cardboard box. Daniel's mouth dropped open. Stephanie screamed.

'Fine,' the man shrugged. 'Is this better?' He waved the wand again, upgrading the television. 'Is that the right model?' He asked, aloud. 'Or is it too big?' He winked at Albus.

'No, it's fine!' Daniel's mother proclaimed. 'Are you saying that my Daniel can do this, too?'

'With the right education,' Greg nodded, reaching into his trouser pocket for an envelope addressed to the eleven-year-old, and passing it to the boy. 'Which is where Hogwarts School comes in. I'll give you a moment to read the letter.' The teacher shepherded the other wizard back into the hallway, closing the door behind him. 'That could have gone better,' he muttered, sitting down on the steps.

Albus blinked. 'I thought she was going to hex you or something.'

'Not likely,' Greg smiled, 'not as a muggle. I did think I might have needed to get the shield charm out, mind.' He shook his head. 'What do you think then, mate? Seem alright?'

The eleven-year-old shrugged. 'Don't know,' he looked at the floor. 'Couldn't tell.'

'First impressions, though? Would you trust him, Al?'

Albus bit his bottom lip. 'Don't know,' he repeated himself.

The teacher nodded. 'I suppose that's better than a straight-out "no", at least,' he offered. 'I suppose it's question-and-answer time next up.' Greg nudged the boy's shoulder. 'Just be honest, that's all I'm going to ask you to do... oh, and smile. That would help.'

'I'll try,' Albus grinned, as the door to the front room edged open again, to reveal Daniel standing in the doorway.

'Excuse me,' the boy mumbled, 'but none of this makes sense. What's platform 9¾?' He asked. 'Where can I get any of these things?'

'All good questions,' Greg stood up, steadily, 'and much the same questions as I asked when I was eleven,' he walked towards the brown-haired boy, 'and that's why I'm here now – to answer them.' The teacher followed Daniel back into the living room, casually conjuring a pair of stools for himself and Albus. 'All of these objects are available in London, in -a street named Diagon Alley. It's not visible to non-magical people, before you ask.' He paused for breath. 'If you decide you would like to go to Hogwarts, then I'll show you how to get there, and make sure you get everything you need. I'll also show you the platform on September 1st,' he added, 'it's between Platforms 9 and 10, of course.'

Daniel swallowed, looking from the teacher to the other boy. 'How come you're here?'

'I got asked to come,' Albus followed the other wizard's directions to the letter. 'My Aunt works at the school; she wanted someone to meet new muggle-born kids before they started school.'

'Muggle-born?' Daniel repeated.

'Yes,' Greg saved Albus from an awkward explanation. 'It means non-magical.'

'Is it fun?' Daniel asked another question. 'Magic, I mean. This school.'

'My brother says it's great,' Albus replied. 'He's already been there a year. I haven't been yet. I've got all my things, though,' he offered.

'Do they play football there?' The other boy changed the subject abruptly, and Greg shook his head in reply.

'Well, only a little, for fun,' the teacher explained. 'The big sport at Hogwarts is Quidditch.' He reached into his trouser pocket once more, retrieving a book titled "Quidditch Through The Ages". 'Take a look.'

Daniel opened the front cover, turning to a random page, and barely keeping his grip as a stunned look crossed his face. 'The pictures move...'

'Yeah,' Greg smiled. 'They do that.'

Daniel nodded, dumbfounded, as he leafed through the pages. 'This looks awesome...' he mumbled. 'Did you play this?'

'Yep,' the teacher answered. 'All my seven years at school. Four years as chaser, three as seeker.' He glanced at the boy's shirt. 'I didn't miss football.'

'Cool...' A smile edged onto Daniel's lips for the first time since the wizards had arrived. 'I can't wait to tell Connor.'

'Ah,' Greg interrupted, 'that's a no-no, I'm afraid. We keep ourselves to ourselves; we don't tell. No one else can know about this. Sorry,' the man added, sensing the disappointment in the boy's eyes, 'but I hope you understand why. It's your decision, Daniel,' he spoke softly. 'Here's my address if you want to write to me and ask anything.' He got to his feet. 'Unless I hear otherwise from you, I'll see you here at nine o'clock next Monday. Come on, Al,' he made for the front door. 'Keep the book.'

Another loud crack brought Greg and Albus back to the dusty driveway outside the Burrow a few moments later. 'Thanks for coming, Al,' the teacher leant a hand on the boy's shoulder, steadying him as the effects of Apparition wore off. 'You were a great help.'

'Really?' Albus peered back up at the man, unconvinced. 'I didn't say much.'

'You didn't need to, mate,' Greg assured him. 'Just being there helped. Showed his Mum I wasn't some kind of nutter out to kidnap her little boy...'

Albus managed a dry laugh. 'Am I going back next Monday?' He asked, before hurriedly adding a proviso. 'If he decides he wants to go.'

Greg smiled. 'Do you want to come?'

The boy nodded, resolutely.

'Then I look forwards to it,' he turned towards the shadow of the house. 'I hope your cousin's as much help as you've been,' he offered, pushing through the same kitchen door that Albus' grandfather had opened earlier that morning. 'Hello? Anyone in?'

'Yes,' Hermione Weasley appeared beside the kitchen table. 'I trust everything has gone to plan?'

'Pretty much,' Greg answered. 'Needs a bit of time to get used to it, I think, but I reckon he's good.'

'Was Albus any help?' She stared at the boy.

'A great deal,' the man snapped, more sharply than he had expected, as he watched the eleven-year-old back away. 'If he'd already started Hogwarts, then I'd be giving him points.' Greg watched a thin smile drift onto Albus' face, and felt the same thing happening on his own.

'Well, I hope Louis is as much use this afternoon,' she huffed. 'He's been making a scene about it ever since he got here...'

'I'll take Albus again,' Greg suggested, quickly. 'If you want to go, that is, mate?'

'Yes,' Albus replied, eagerly. 'I'll go.'

Hermione shook her head. 'I'm afraid it must be Louis. If this plan is going to succeed, every pupil must have a different buddy.' She fixed her gaze on Albus in time to see the eleven-year-old's smile fade.

'I'll see you next week, Al,' Greg offered, but it wasn't enough to brighten the boy's expression.

'Fine,' he mumbled, turning away. 'See you.'

Greg rolled his eyes. 'What did you say it like that for?' He complained. 'Did you see the look on his face?'

'Well, it _has_ to be Louis,' Hermione was unrepentant. 'You know the idea. My nephews can't be seen to be avoiding their bit.'

'That doesn't mean you had to tell him it like that,' the man shook his head, before lowering his voice. 'He was nervous as hell this morning, and look how he came through it...' Greg caught his tongue before saying anything more. 'I've got another lad to meet now, haven't I? Two, I suppose,' he thought out loud. 'Where's that Louis kid?'

Hermione glared back at her new colleague for a moment, before seemingly deciding similarly against continuing their argument. 'Through here,' she announced, leading Greg through into a low-ceilinged sitting room, where a sullen-looking boy sat, hunched in the back of an armchair. 'Time to go, Louis,' Hermione announced. 'This is Professor Bennett. Come here.' She paused. 'Now.'

The boy, whose red hair dropped to the top of his eyebrows above a heavily freckled face, seemed to have lost all stomach for the fight, and trooped disconsolately across to meet the two professors.

'Hi, Louis,' Greg reached out to shake the boy's hand. 'Let's go.'


	4. Shields and Secrets

'Note to self,' Greg observed a moment later as he watched Louis Weasley throw up into the gutter at the side of the road. 'Check if they've Apparated before trying it.'

'S... sorry, sir,' the boy stammered, his face pale as he pushed himself up from the kerbside.

'Don't worry about it, mate,' Greg ruffled the boy's already untidy hair. 'At least Hermione hasn't tried putting smartening charms on you.'

'She did,' Louis confessed. 'Six times.'

'She said you made a bit of a scene,' the professor recalled, and the boy blushed. 'I'd have got rid of the bloody things, too, if I were you. I want a real kid here, not a mannequin.' He smiled as the eleven-year-old grinned back: the professor had quickly learned that this was a job for which he would need his companion fully onside. 'Well, no use standing around,' Greg continued, 'we've got a job to do. Looking for Church House, and the Llewellyn family.'

Louis nodded, following the teacher without complaint as the two wizards followed the leaf-lined road around the rural village.

'That's the church,' Greg noticed, nodding towards an old sandstone building that stood, lop-sided, on one side of the village square. 'So...'

'Church House,' Louis pointed towards an ornate set of gates a handful of yards away, set in between a high pair of hedges.

'Good work,' the professor smiled, heading towards the gates. 'I could have the awkward conversation now, or...' He touched the tip of his wand to a lock at the centre of the gates. 'Alohomora.'

'Cool,' Louis grinned his approval, following the man onto the now-open driveway.

'Even bigger than the Burrow, this,' Greg observed, leading the red-headed boy towards the stately entrance and thumping the iron door knocker.

A middle-aged man with thinning silver hair answered. 'Can I help you?'

'Good afternoon,' Greg greeted him. 'Philip Llewellyn? Professor Gregory Bennett.' His name sounded much more convincing, he thought, when he included the title. 'I am doing some research, looking into traditions and folklore in the British Isles. I'm wondering if I can ask you a few questions?'

The man shook his hand. 'Well... I expect so,' he blustered, peering beyond Greg's shoulders. 'How did you get through the gate?'

'The gate?' Greg repeated, blankly, before telling a half-truth. 'It was open.'

Llewellyn shuddered. 'Bizarre. No harm in it, though, I suppose.' He shook his head. 'My son is in the garden; I shall have to call him in. Do take a seat,' he gestured to an airy front room, populated by a set of wide, low armchairs. 'Nathan,' he called out, heading along the timber floor of the hallway.

'Play along, Louis,' Greg whispered as the two wizards followed Llewellyn's instructions and sat down. 'Got my head screamed off this morning when I went straight for it. We'll get to magic,' he assured the boy. 'Don't you worry about what to say – just be honest if you need to be.'

'Professor Bennett,' the man returned, carrying a tray that held three glasses and a jug of iced water. 'Traditions and folklore? An interesting topic, if I may say so.'

'I'm glad you think that, Mr Llewellyn,' Greg improvised. 'It's long since been an interest of mine... since I was Louis' age, in fact.'

Philip Llewellyn glanced thoughtfully at the boy. 'Ten, eleven?' He enquired. 'My boy's a similar age. Turned eleven last week.'

Greg nodded. Now wasn't quite the time to broach the subject of his son's magic. 'Would you say that traditions or folklore play a significant part in your life?'

The other man's expression wrinkled in thought. 'Probably not,' he concluded. 'Perhaps a few decades ago, when there might still have been a little truth in the matter... but no longer. I suppose it is no more than a good story today.'

Greg made to jot down a summary of Philip's answer. 'Interesting,' he nodded. 'Are there any particular tales which you feel hold any special resonance, either to your family or to your local area?'

'Well, there's the Wild Hunt, I suppose,' Philip offered. 'You can't grow up near Windsor Great Park without hearing tell of Herne the Hunter, can you?'

'Herne the Hunter?' Greg winced.

'Oh yes,' the other man confirmed, eagerly. 'Herne the Hunter, leader of the Wild Hunt. That's what my grandmother always told us... When there was a thunderstorm, it was the hooves of Herne's horses, as they ran across the sky.'

'Well, that's not true, for starters...' Greg muttered to himself, before clearing his throat and raising his voice. 'Your Grandmother?' He asked. 'Did she ever mention anything more about the Hunt? Did she ever claim to see it?'

'I think she might have,' Philip shrugged. 'I was only little; I don't remember.'

Greg nodded, sympathetically. 'It's quite a common tale, across the country, passed down from generation to generation. It's a theory of mine that there's an affinity for this supernatural, a gene that's passed on like these stories. Was there ever anyone else in your family who claimed to have seen the Hunt, or anything along these lines?'

'I had a cousin...' Philip recalled, stiltedly. 'He loved Grandma's stories more than any of us. I couldn't tell you what happened to him, though,' the man shook his head. 'Don't think I saw him when he was any older than eleven.'

'What about yourself?' Greg aimed to keep his voice casual. 'Or your son?'

Philip's body snapped rigid at the professor's mention of his son. 'Fine,' he answered, robotically. 'Nathan is perfectly normal.'

Greg snatched a glance at Louis, before turning back to the muggle man. 'Mr Llewellyn,' he began, 'I don't think I asked you that.'

The man flushed. 'Well, I assure you, neither of us have seen, or done, anything supernatural. Not here. Not in North Ascot.'

'The supernatural doesn't usually worry about where it is,' Greg replied, cryptically. 'As I say, my theory is that this affinity can often skip a generation or more. Louis' family can trace it back as far as their family tree runs. I can't go back a single step.'

'What are you implying?' Llewellyn's voice rose. 'Who has sent you? Nathan is not a freak!'

'Dad?' The quiet voice of an eleven-year-old boy, standing in the doorway between the sitting room and kitchen of the old house, silenced his father. 'What's going on? Why are you talking about me?'

Greg's first thought was that Nathan Llewellyn looked like a choirboy frozen in the headlights of a lorry. He was a couple of inches shorter than either Albus or Louis, and his golden blond hair sat slick against the top of his head, still damp from what his swimming trunks suggested must have been a morning in the pool. His arms and chest were gently tanned, but this only served to make his face seem more obviously pale.

'Nathan,' Greg began, softly. 'Have strange things ever happened to you, when you have been frightened or scared? Things you can't explain?'

The boy's thin body shivered. 'Dad...' He repeated. 'Who is this?'

'My name's Professor Greg Bennett,' Greg stood up to introduce himself as Nathan backed behind his father's armchair. 'I'm a teacher at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I'm here because you – like me, and like Louis here – are capable of magic.'

The room fell into an awkward silence, as Philip and Nathan Llewellyn stared, dumbfounded, at their two visitors. It was the older man who broke the quiet. 'Who sent you...?' He repeated.

'Every birth of a child capable of magic is recorded at the school,' Greg explained. 'Nathan's name has been down since he was born.'

'Did you know about...' Philip had begun to ask a question, but his son cut him off.

'Dad! Don't tell them!'

'They might be able to explain.'

'I don't want them to know!' Nathan's eyes began to water. 'Dad! Please!'

'They need to know, Nathan,' he pleaded with his son. 'You can't hide from it forever.'

Nathan turned on his heel, rushing out of the sitting room. Moments later, the sound of the back door slamming told the others where the boy had gone.

'Perhaps you shouldn't tell us,' Greg suggested. 'It sounds like you might be talking about accidental magic – not unusual for a boy of his age – and whilst I agree with you that he cannot hide from it, perhaps it would be better for him to admit it himself.' He pulled his wand out of the cuff of his shirt. 'Louis,' an easy flick changed the redhead's casual clothes into swimshorts. 'This is your bit, mate. Just go and talk... be a friend. I get the feeling he hasn't had many of late.'

The eleven-year-old stood up, obediently. 'Yes, sir,' he answered. 'I'll try.'

'Thanks, mate,' Greg held out a hand for Louis to high-five as the boy followed his soon-to-be classmate out into the back garden.

'You're right,' Philip Llewellyn concluded a moment later. 'He's not had any since it happened.'

'Don't tell me,' Greg insisted. 'It's his decision to share it.'

Philip nodded, getting to his feet. 'The kitchen looks out over the back,' he explained. 'We should keep an eye on them.'

Greg didn't argue. 'The gate wasn't open,' he chose the moment to admit it. 'I unlocked it.'

The other man accepted the teacher's confession without comment. 'What else can you do... can _he_ do?' Philip stood by a glass wall, watching his son slump on a lounger beside a pool that reflected the hot August sun.

'Right now,' Greg answered, 'not very much. Anything that he can do will be out of control, and it will usually come out in bursts, when he's angry or frightened. One of my best friends made someone end up on top of a cupboard after an argument. Louis' uncle is fond of telling a story where he regrew a whole head of hair overnight after one particularly bad haircut.'

'And when he controls it?'

'Sky's the limit,' Greg held out his own wand. 'Just like anything else – depends how hard he wants to work at it.'

Louis Weasley glanced up over his shoulder towards the overlooking kitchen of Church House, noticing a positive thumbs-up signal from his future professor and resolving to approach the other eleven-year-old.

'Hi,' the redhead sat down on the next lounger. 'Nice pool,' he offered, tamely. It didn't surprise him when the other boy didn't answer. Louis sighed, recalling the task that the teacher had given him. What was he meant to do? He stretched out on the chair, feeling the sun's rays on his chest. 'This must be really weird for you,' he thought out loud. 'I mean, I've grown up with magic all my life, but you... it must have just come out of nowhere.'

Nathan grunted.

'I don't know what I'd do,' Louis continued. 'I guess you're pretty freaked out by it all.'

'I'm not a freak!' Nathan sat bolt upright all of a sudden, his eyes watering.

'I didn't say that,' Louis defended himself.

'You might as well have,' the other boy snapped back, glaring at the redhead. 'I'm not normal, am I? Not like the others.'

Louis bit his bottom lip, searching for an answer. 'What do you mean by normal?'

'Normal like everyone else at my school was,' Nathan shuddered. 'Not like you and your Dad, you're fucking... freaks.'

Louis swallowed. 'He's not my Dad,' his voice faltered, 'and he's not a freak, and neither am I.'

'Just fuck off,' the blond boy shook his head. 'Fuck off and leave me alone.' He collapsed back onto the sun lounger, making no effort to hide his tears.

'Don't talk to me like that,' Louis stood up, feeling his fists clench without thinking about it.

'Or else what?' Nathan rolled over to face the other boy, his own arms shaking. 'What are you going to do?'

Without warning, the sun lounger behind Louis snapped shut, nipping at the back of the redhead's shorts. 'What the hell...?' He jerked his head around to face Nathan again.

'You see it, I am a freak!' He lashed out, throwing a wild punch towards Louis. 'I make things like that happen,' he stood up, pushing the other boy in the chest, 'and I don't know why!'

'It's magic,' Louis tried again. 'It's normal...'

'It's not fucking normal!' Nathan's eyes had begun to overflow with tears that streaked down his cheeks, blurring his vision as he shoved Louis backwards, tripping him over the sun lounger, before pushing past the redhead's stricken body. His escape was suddenly halted, however, by the deafening echo of a thunderclap above. Nathan paused, looking upwards just in time to see a droplet of hail the size of a golf ball come crashing down onto his forehead, causing him to scream out in pain as it made contact with his skin.

'Get under here!' Louis' shout shook the other boy back to the moment, and Nathan turned to see that the redhead had scrambled under the flattened sun lounger, and was now holding it skywards as a shield. 'Come on!'

Nathan didn't need to be told again. He threw himself under the green plastic chair, cowering as he watched the hailstones smash onto the concrete around him.

'Are you alright?' Louis reached out an arm to Nathan's bare shoulder, brushing shards of ice away from a cut as the blond boy winced.

'I think so...' Nathan muttered.

'Protego!' The two boys looked up together as they heard a shout from the back door of Church House, and Nathan instinctively ducked as a beam of red light shot towards him.

'It's alright,' Louis counselled, 'it's a Shield Charm. Come on, we can get up.' He pushed the lounger-come-shield away, flipping it up and over as he got to his feet. Greg Bennett was walking towards the two children, his wand propelling the jet of light over the boys whilst a similarly coloured bubble protected him from the storm.

'What's going on...?' Nathan stammered.

Louis turned to the other boy. 'Magic.'

'Some thunderstorm,' Greg reflected moments later, as they reached the sanctuary of the Llewellyns' back door. 'Not the hooves of Herne, mind,' he added, watching Nathan run for his father's arms. 'Louis,' he turned to the other boy, now standing alone by the doorway.

'Y... yes, sir?' He shivered.

'Come here, mate,' the teacher smiled, holding his arms out. 'That was awesome.'

Louis smiled broadly. 'Thank you.'

'British Weather,' Philip Llewellyn offered into the silence that followed. 'You never can tell.'

Greg nodded. 'Not when you've got a couple of frightened young wizards around.'

Philip's mouth dropped open. 'You mean to say... _Nathan_...'

'It's not unheard of,' Greg shrugged. 'You saw the sun lounger snap shut,' he explained. 'He wasn't in a good way.'

'I swore at him,' Nathan confessed, without prompting. 'I told him to fuck off...' The eleven-year-old slipped into tears again. 'I didn't mean it...'

'Forget it,' Louis pulled away from the teacher, walking towards the other boy. 'It doesn't matter.'

'I felt like this when it happened,' Nathan continued. 'At school,' he explained, as his words tumbled out. 'After a cricket match; we lost, and Charlie Riley said it was my fault, and it wasn't, not really, but he wouldn't stop saying it, and then, and then...' He swallowed, realising what he had begun to share. 'These stumps flew across the changing room and nearly hit Charlie. They went so fast they went right through the wall... I swear I never threw them, but the others all said I did, and everyone believed them, I mean, how else could it have happened...' Nathan tailed off.

'Magic,' Greg answered. 'Accidental magic. It happens to kids of your age, Nathan – usually when they're angry or upset or scared.'

'I blew up some Brussels Sprouts that I didn't want to eat,' Louis offered, making the other boy smile through his tears.

'Hogwarts teaches you how to control your magic,' the man explained.

'To do stuff like that... that bubble?' Nathan asked. 'In the garden?'

'That was a Shield Charm,' Greg nodded, 'and yes. You'll learn about that.'

'Cool...' Nathan swallowed. 'Sorry,' he apologised again. 'I didn't mean any of what I said...'

'I told you, mate,' Louis smiled, 'it's alright.'

Greg reached into the pocket of his trousers for what he hoped would be the final time that day. 'Here's your letter,' he explained. 'Don't worry about the shopping list,' he added. 'We'll sort that out for you – next Monday, if you're keen.'

Nathan took the envelope carefully, before looking across to the other boy. 'Are you coming on Monday, too?'

'I don't know,' Louis turned back to the professor. 'Can I?'

Greg smiled. He was about to spend a year asking questions to which he already knew the answer, he reasoned, so there was no harm in starting now. 'Do you want to?'

'Yes!' The eleven-year-old answered, defiantly.

'Then I suppose we'll see you then,' he turned back to the Llewellyns. 'My details are on the letter, if you need to contact us. See you next week,' he held his hand out towards Louis, who groaned.

'See you,' Louis smiled, before reaching for the professor's hand, and vanishing from the Llewellyns' kitchen with a crack.

Philip Llewellyn swallowed. 'Did that all just happen, or did we imagine it?'

Nathan looked around, taking in the still-damp paths around the garden, before his gaze settled back on the parchment in his hands. 'I don't think you can imagine a letter.'

'Greg,' Arthur Weasley caught the teacher's attention as he left the Burrow having returned the man's other grandson. 'How were the boys?'

The professor paused, allowing himself a moment's thought as the older man approached. 'Not what I'd expected,' he settled on his answer, and Arthur nodded, knowingly.

'Smart of Hermione to take her own daughter and leave you with Al and Lou,' he gestured towards his garden shed. 'Come on, let's have a cuppa. Let me know how they got on.'

Greg shrugged, following the other man down the garden path. 'No complaints from me, mind,' he added, 'they both did fine... they just weren't what I'd expected,' he repeated his observation.

'What had you expected?' Arthur probed, and Greg shook his head.

'I'm not sure, truth be told,' he grimaced. 'More confidence, I suppose, but Al couldn't be further from that. Scared of his own shadow, almost.'

Arthur acknowledged Greg's answer, pushing open the wooden door of his shed and holding it ajar for the other man to join him inside. 'Scared of James' shadow, more like.'

'Oh,' Greg nodded, recalling the way the black-haired boy had mentioned his brother's name earlier that morning. 'That figures.'

'He's grown up being compared to James since he was old enough to talk,' Arthur reminisced as he half-filled a kettle. 'No surprise he's ended up comparing himself, too,' the man frowned.

'He said I should have brought James,' Greg remembered, 'because _everyone likes James_.'

Arthur smiled, sadly. 'That's Albus, alright,' he acknowledged. 'Always second best.'

'He said James was teasing him about not being in Gryffindor,' the professor mentioned, 'that he'd end up in Slytherin.'

'Perhaps that would be better?' Arthur offered as the kettle came to the boil. 'Get away from James.'

'I think he's a little worried that he'll let the family down if he isn't a Gryffindor,' Greg suggested. 'I get the feeling that it's rather the family House.'

'You could put it that way,' the older man offered a mug of tea to the teacher. 'Everyone but Molly and Lucy,' he paused, blowing across the top of his own drink. 'Percy's twins. Ravenclaw.'

'Not quite Slytherin, though, is it?' Greg reflected, bitterly. 'I know that all too well.' He took a mouthful of the hot drink. 'I'd be delighted to take him into Slytherin,' he observed. 'As I would Louis, though I think he may be another one in the family mould.'

'You do?' Arthur raised his eyebrows. 'Gryffindor's about dressing up and throwing tantrums now?'

'Sorry?' Greg blinked. 'I know he had a bit of a sulk this morning, but he was excellent once we got there,' he defended the eleven-year-old. 'The other kid was scared out of his mind, and had a real go at him, but Louis stood up to him, held his nerve.'

Arthur swallowed another mouthful of tea. 'I'm glad the boy's got that in him,' he admitted. 'I'd never seen it before. Two older sisters,' the man added, by way of explanation.

'Both Gryffindor,' Greg didn't need to check his assertion. 'Another one in the shadows.'

'But one who's used to getting everything he wants,' Arthur added, 'or beware.'

'I never saw that,' the teacher confessed.

'Maybe he knew he wasn't getting anything out of you,' Arthur surmised. 'Kids can tell sometimes, can't they? Some teachers you just don't mess with.'

'I've not even started yet,' Greg smiled, grimly. 'I doubt that I've got that far. Could be a Slytherin streak, though,' he suggested. 'Knowing what you want and how to get it.'

The older man snorted. 'I always thought of that as being a spoiled brat,' he chuckled. 'Each to their own, I suppose.'


	5. Diagon Alley

Greg checked his belongings for a final time the following Monday, shouting a goodbye to his flatmate before slamming the door of the London flat and heading for the motorway that would lead him to Oxford.

'Morning, Daniel,' he greeted the boy brightly a little over an hour later as the eleven-year-old answered the door.

'Morning,' the boy grunted his reply. He had on the same over-large football shirt as he had worn the week before, and his face still hid beneath his rusty fringe.

'I take it you're coming shopping, then?' Greg offered, brightly, but the boy didn't return his smile.

'Mum says I can't go,' Daniel muttered, without making eye-contact. 'We can't afford it,' he explained, sombrely.

'That doesn't need to be a problem,' the teacher reasoned. 'Is your Mum in?'

'She's out,' Daniel shook his head. 'Meeting someone. Didn't say when she'd be back.'

The teacher shrugged, 'then we'll worry about that later.'

Daniel blinked. 'What?'

'You heard right,' a small grin spread across Greg's face. 'If you want to come to Hogwarts, I'm not letting something daft like that get in the way.'

'But...' The boy began to protest.

'Do you want to come?' Greg altered his question slightly, and the eleven-year-old nodded quickly, almost apologetically so. 'Alright, then,' the teacher continued. 'What's stopping you?'

A look of understanding dawned on Daniel's face. 'You mean...' he stammered. 'Just go anyway?'

Greg smiled. 'It's down to you, Dan.'

'Wicked,' the boy reflected his expression. 'None of my old teachers would ever have said that.'

'Probably not,' Greg agreed, 'but then again, I don't reckon your old school is going to be anything like Hogwarts. You all set?'

The boy nodded.

'Let's move out, then,' the teacher grinned, turning his back as the eleven-year-old grabbed a set of keys from behind the door.

'You've got a _car_?' Daniel questioned, loudly, as Greg pulled open the driver's door of a small black hatchback that sat at the end of the garden path.

'What did you expect, mate?' The man laughed, watching the boy trot around to let himself in the passenger's side. 'A broomstick?'

Daniel looked back at him, uncertain for a moment. 'Well, yeah, maybe,' he stuttered. 'I mean, in that book...'

'Brooms are fine for short distances, Dan,' the teacher explained, 'quick, manoeuvrable, you know... but they're not great for Oxford to London. All a bit windy and you'd get one hell of a sore arse.'

The boy blinked again, before smiling as he took in the man's words. 'You _definitely_ aren't like any of my old teachers.'

Greg shrugged. 'I'm still learning. Now,' he indicated out of the housing estate, turning back towards the city's ring road that would soon lead back towards London. 'We'll dump this at mine, then get the tube across to Charing Cross.'

Daniel nodded, dumbfounded. 'Okay.'

The teacher smiled. 'The things that must be going through your head right now... I remember my first trip to Diagon Alley,' he recalled. 'Couldn't stop staring at everything, and now it seems so normal,' he glanced over to the boy the car turned left on a roundabout and joined a dual carriageway. 'Seatbelt.'

'What?' Daniel started. 'Oh, right,' he reached for the belt behind his left shoulder, pulling it across his chest. 'Sorry.'

'No worries,' Greg acknowledged him. 'The others will be waiting for us at the station.'

'That other boy?' Daniel asked. 'Albert?'

'Albus,' the teacher corrected, gently, 'or, better still, just Al. It'll be him, his cousin Louis, and another boy in your position.'

'Right,' Daniel nodded. 'How long will it take us to get there?'

'Well,' another grin spread across the teacher's face. 'That depends how fast I drive.'

'Morning, Arthur,' Greg hailed the cousins' grandfather across the concourse of the Underground station. 'Boys,' he acknowledged Albus and Louis with a short wave, 'and the Llewellyns,' he offered a hand to Philip Llewellyn, before grinning as Nathan extended a tense arm in his direction. 'Hey, Nathan. You look smart. You alright?'

The blond boy, sporting a sharply ironed shirt that matched an immaculate combination of tie and trousers, just nodded rigidly.

'Coming with, Arthur?' The teacher continued.

The older man shook his head. 'List of chores this long from Hermione,' he chuckled, holding his hands apart. 'I've had a chat with Hannah; they can floo back to the Burrow when you're done.'

'Fair enough,' Greg thanked the other man. 'I'll see you later.'

'See you, boys.' Arthur turned to leave. 'Of course, I shall have to have another go on these Underground trains first...'

'Bye, Grandad!' Albus and Louis chorused.

Greg smiled, before beckoning the group together. 'Just the six of us, then?' He looked around the others. 'An odd group we make...' He glanced back to the two cousins. 'I take it you two have been before, right?'

'Yeah,' Louis answered his question, whilst Albus just nodded.

'Good, good,' Greg smiled again. 'That means you won't be doing any window shopping, or wandering off – you'll be looking after our guests. The first stop is the Leaky Cauldron.'

Greg led the small group along the short route through the London streets from the station to the pub that formed the hidden doorway between muggle and magical London. 'Through here, guys,' he pointed to his right, stifling a grin as he watched Philip Llewellyn's jaw fall open in shock. 'It's called a Fidelius Charm,' the teacher explained. 'You can't see it until I tell you it's there. Thought you'd appreciate the Latin.' He allowed the cousins to take the lead into the inn, bringing up the rear as the group shuffled through.

'Isn't this a dead end?' Daniel observed as Louis brought them into a small courtyard, hemmed in by a brick wall.

'Not quite,' Greg's eyes sparkled. 'Never take things at face value, Dan,' he advised, unsheathing his wand and aiming at a particular brick on the wall. 'Three up, two across... Enjoy.' He stepped back, nudging the cousins to follow him, and left the muggle-born boys to take in the full panorama of Diagon Alley as it unfolded in front of him. 'What do you think, then?' He prompted, a moment later.

'It beats Westgate,' Daniel managed, turning around as if to check that what he was seeing were indeed real. 'Wow.'

'Come on, then,' the teacher placed a hand on the boy's shoulder. 'No time like the present. These two need to head for Gringotts,' he nodded to the Llewellyns, who both still seemed entranced by the sights in front of them. 'Wizard Bank,' Greg explained. 'You won't get anywhere without some wizarding money.'

The four children were left standing outside the marble pillars that surrounded Gringotts Bank whilst the adults went about their business inside.

'What are you wearing all that for?' Daniel gestured towards Nathan's shirt and tie.

Nathan shrugged, wordlessly.

'Leave him alone,' Louis defended the other boy. 'He didn't know he didn't need to. At least he's wearing something that fits him.'

'Shut up,' Daniel snapped back, his eyes narrowing.

'Leave it, Louis,' Albus turned to his cousin. 'It doesn't matter, does it?' He persisted. 'When you go and get your wands, they don't care what you're wearing.'

Louis shook his head, all the while keeping his eyes on Daniel's cold stare. 'Fine,' the redhead muttered, before turning his back.

'Sorry about him,' Albus offered, hesitantly.

Daniel snorted. 'I don't care.'

'He didn't mean anything,' Albus lowered his voice. 'He's not like that.'

'I said I don't care,' Daniel insisted. 'I know this shirt doesn't fit me properly. Just cause he's got all that fancy stuff doesn't make him any better than me.'

'He didn't say that,' Albus whispered.

The muggle-born boy rolled his eyes. 'I bet he meant it, though. I've heard it all before...'

Albus sighed, looking up to the great doors of Gringotts Bank as he wondered what to say next. 'That won't matter at Hogwarts,' he stammered.

'I bet it will,' Daniel turned away, leaving the four boys to wait in silence for the teacher to return, oblivious to the quarrel that had just flickered between them.

'Ollivander's first?' Greg led Philip Llewellyn from the bank a few moments later. 'Might as well start at the top.'

The wandmaker's shop stood a short walk away from the bank, past a second-hand robe shop, where Daniel's eyes lingered briefly, but not for long enough for any of the other boys to notice. The inside of the shop was dark, and a little dingy, and when Louis turned to squint through the musty windows back to the lively street outside, his only reward was a nose covered in grime.

'Hello,' Greg called out. 'Anyone in?'

'Coming, coming,' a frail-sounding voice answered. 'Give an old man a minute.' The speaker sounded slightly irritated as he made his way through an open doorway to a counter at the back of the room. 'Can I help you?'

'Morning, sir,' Greg greeted the wandmaker, warmly. 'Hogwarts' business,' he explained. 'A couple of muggle-born boys, here for their first wands.'

The old man's eyes sparkled, as his gaze moved around the teacher's body to the waiting children. 'Not you, Potter, Weasley...' he muttered, before his eyes settled on Daniel's hard stare. 'Interesting, interesting,' he pulled a tape measure from the musty pocket of a long, dark blue robe and begun to take a series of measurements as the boy stood stock still, save for a quick glance in the teacher's direction.

'Let him do his bit, Dan,' Greg assured the eleven-year-old. 'I got my wand here, back when I was your age.' Instinctively, Greg reached for his own wand. 'Mahogany, kneazle hair, nine inches...'

'Excellent for Transfiguration,' Ollivander finished the other man's sentence abruptly, snapping his measure back into his hand before retreating into the back of the store.

The teacher laughed, awkwardly. 'Good job I'm not teaching Charms, then.'

'How does it work?' Daniel broke his silence. 'I don't know what kind of wand I want...'

'The wand chooses the wizard, Dan,' Greg recalled one of the oldest clichés in the magical world. 'I haven't the faintest how it works, but Ollivander there's the expert. He'll make sure you end up with the right one.'

'How will I know...?' Daniel protested.

'You just will,' Albus cut in. 'When I got mine, I could just feel it. It was just _right_.'

'Yeah,' Louis agreed with his cousin, although he didn't add any more as the old wandmaker had already returned to the front of his store.

'Well, well...' Ollivander muttered. 'How about this one?' He held out a narrow wand. 'Ten inches, cedar and unicorn hair.'

Nervously, Daniel reached out to take it from the wandmaker, holding it in his left hand. 'What do I do?'

'Just wave it,' Greg smiled. 'Like Al said, you'll know if it's right.'

'Is something supposed to happen?' The muggle-born boy asked aloud.

'Not if it's the wrong wand, boy,' Ollivander chastised him, almost snatching the wand back and turning instead to a much shorter rod. 'Seven inches, rowan with hippogriff feather.'

Daniel took the wand, and this time his aimless wandwork triggered a brief blink in the dusty lamplight that shone from one corner of the shop.

'No, no,' the wandmaker interrupted Daniel again. 'That won't do at all.' He bustled back into the rear of the shop. 'Keep it small, keep it small. Let's try hazel...' He returned, presenting another short wand to the eleven-year-old. 'Eight inches, hazel with mooncalf hair.'

Daniel reached forwards tentatively, taking the wandmaker's offering gently, and letting out a deep breath as he felt it touch his left palm.

'I believe we may have found it,' Ollivander chuckled, watching the boy gaze, open-mouthed, at the object in his hand. 'That will be... oh,' he tailed off, halted by a sharp nudge from the teacher.

'Hogwarts account,' Greg whispered, covering his mouth behind his hand. 'Just that lad.'

The old man nodded, seriously, before allowing his expression to brighten as he turned back to the boy. 'A little something,' he added, 'compliments of Ollivander's.' He lifted a soft, black drawstring bag from the pocket of his robes. 'Look after it.'

'Y... yes, sir,' Daniel shook himself back to the moment. 'I will, sir.'

'Pleased to hear it,' Ollivander acknowledged, setting his sights on the other boy. 'Good morning,' he trilled, 'are you ready?'

Louis almost had to physically push Nathan forwards, as the blond boy stared at his own feet, shivering as he struggled to reply. 'No... no...'

The old wandmaker clearly paid no heed to the eleven-year-old's panicked answer, however, as he had already begun his practised routine of measurement and scrutiny before Nathan had opened his mouth.

'W... what if it doesn't work?' He turned to Louis, rubbing the arm of his shirt over his damp eyes. 'What if I can't find a wand? What if none of them work?'

'You'll be alright, Nathan,' the redhead stepped forward. 'You caused a thunderstorm, remember? You'll make a wand work.'

The blond boy managed a thin smile, before swallowing deeply as Ollivander re-appeared.

'Seven and a half inches, beech with crup tail hair...' He held out a stubby wand with a wide grip, and Nathan reached for it slowly, waving it as he had been instructed, only to drop it in stunned shock as the shop's glass windows exploded outwards, splintering into the street.

'Shi...' Nathan caught his instinctive swear word, glancing around fearfully as he watched the others survey the damage.

'Nathan?' Louis managed, disbelievingly.

'I didn't mean to!' The blond boy's eyes watered. 'I didn't know that would happen!'

'Not to worry, not to worry,' Ollivander fussed, lifting the discarded wand from the ground. 'My fault entirely, young man. Not enough wand to hold you, that's all.'

'B... but... but...' Nathan whimpered. 'W... what about the w... windows?'

'Leave them to me,' Greg smiled, drawing his own wand and pointing it at the broken glass. 'Reparo!'

'Wow...' Daniel exclaimed, watching the glass seemingly suck itself back into place, free of any of the grime that had blocked a clear view back into Diagon Alley. 'Will we learn how to do that?'

'I'd hope so,' the teacher grinned. 'Otherwise it'll mean I'm not doing my job properly.'

'I'm sorry,' Nathan repeated again, as Ollivander returned from the rear of the store with another set of wands. The wandmaker, however, was too engrossed in his task to respond to the boy's apology, instead handing him another, much longer, tool.

'Thirteen inches,' he explained, reverently. 'Willow. Augurey feathers.'

Nathan's right hand shook as he reached out to take the offered wand, but his grip seemed to relax as it filled his palm.

'Give it a wave, then,' Ollivander pressed the eleven-year-old, who turned to the window and obliged. 'Well...?' The wandmaker persisted, only for his attention to drift to the newly-cleaned panes of glass. The bright summer's morning had begun to darken, and spots of rainwater – first scattered, and then suddenly with a fierce intensity – began to batter the windows, only to fade away as quickly as they had arrived.

Louis whistled. 'I think that's the right one,' he remarked. 'It's a good thing you fixed the windows, sir.'

The teacher nodded. 'I won't argue with you on that one, mate.'

'That's sixteen galleons, then,' Ollivander turned to Nathan's father, who distractedly fished for the coins inside his wallet. 'Thank you,' the wandmaker pocketed the gold, before presenting the blond boy with a navy blue version of the drawstring bag he'd earlier given Daniel. 'Use it well. I have a feeling you will do.'

The skies stayed clear for the rest of the morning as the small party trekked up and down the alley, checking off the items on Nathan and Daniel's lists from robes and cauldrons through to books and parchment. They ended at Quality Quidditch Supplies, where Greg allowed Louis and Albus five galleons of spending money each to thank them for their help that morning. The teacher had hoped that it would also prove an opportunity for the cousins to share something of the wizarding game with the two muggle-born boys, but both children were too absorbed in their own purchases for much conversation to take root.

Indeed, Greg reflected as he finished a plateful of steak and chips back at the Leaky Cauldron, there had been precious little chatter between the boys all morning. Even now, all four children seemed very guarded in what they shared with the others: Nathan was asking Louis a handful of cautious questions about his new belongings, with Daniel regarding him suspiciously all the while. Albus, sitting closest to the teacher, was slumped halfway backwards in his chair, apparently disinterested in any further discussion.

'Alright, Al?' Greg prompted him.

'Yeah, yeah,' the boy sat up, slightly startled. 'Fine.'

'You got everything all set for Friday?'

Albus nodded.

The teacher smiled. 'Can I have a look at those gloves you bought?'

'Sure,' Albus reached into a simple canvas bag that squatted beside his chair, pulling out a neat pair of brown leather Quidditch gloves and passing them to the man.

'Nice,' Greg observed, turning them over and stroking the fabric. 'A heck of a lot better than mine were when I first started.'

'You were a better player than me, though,' Albus began to protest, only for the teacher to cut him off with a laugh.

'Al...' He shook his head. 'I'd never even sat on a broom before my first day. You can be as good a player as you want to be.'

The eleven-year-old sighed. 'Maybe.'

'Definitely,' Greg ruffled the boy's already messy hair. 'Just as long as you believe in yourself: if you don't, who's going to?' He repeated a phrase which Theo had first mentioned during his own first-year. 'Well, I think that's everything, isn't it?' The teacher looked around, getting to his feet. 'You two know how you're getting back to the Burrow, and I think it's about time we hit the road. Philip,' he turned to the other man. 'See you on Friday – half past ten, Kings Cross.'

Philip Llewellyn nodded. 'Certainly.' He stood up to shake Greg's hand. 'See you there.'

'You ready, Dan?' Greg asked the muggle-born boy, who began to gather his own belongings as he stood, leaving the teacher to call his farewells to the other children. 'See you at Kings Cross.'

Few words were shared in Greg's hatchback as the relentless beat of drums dominated the motorway journey back to Oxford. As the car neared the roundabout that would take them away from the ring road and back onto Daniel's housing estate, Greg faded the volume down. 'Do you want me to come in with you? Talk to your Mum?'

Daniel swallowed, turning his head away from the window through which he had been staring for the last half-hour. 'It's alright,' he replied, quietly. 'I'll be fine.'

'Okay,' the teacher flicked his indicator into life. 'I'll wait in the car. Today hasn't cost her a penny, remember.'

'I know,' Daniel's face was expressionless, and Greg struggled to contain a sigh as he picked his way through the side streets towards Daniel's house.

'Here you are, mate.'

Daniel gathered up the bags that had sat in the passenger's footwell, reaching for the door handle with his left hand before pausing. 'Thanks for taking me today, sir.'

'That's okay, Dan,' Greg managed a smile. 'I'll wait here until you're in, and then I guess I'll see you Friday... about eight o'clock.'

'Eight?' Daniel repeated. 'You said half ten...'

The man laughed. 'Have you ever tried driving into London on a morning?'

Daniel returned his smile, pushing the door shut and leaving the teacher to wind down the car's window ready to watch and listen. As it turned out, however, there would have been no need to lower the glass.

'DANIEL HAMILTON!' The boy's mother appeared in the house's doorway before he could reach for his set of keys. 'Where on earth do you think you have you been?'

'Shopping,' his reply was cold.

'What did I tell you?' Stephanie snapped back. 'What did I say this morning?'

'That we couldn't afford it,' Daniel grunted. 'You said that you weren't spending any of your hard-earned money on that magic shit.'

Stephanie purpled. 'Language!'

'That's what you said,' the boy didn't apologise, 'and I didn't spend any of your money on this magic shit,' he swore again. 'Professor Bennett...'

The mention of the teacher's name was enough to provoke Stephanie Hamilton into pushing past her son towards the black hatchback. 'Hey,' she shrieked. 'What the hell do you think you're doing with my boy?'

Greg glanced into the door mirror of his car, checking for passing traffic before letting himself out to answer the woman's demand. 'You know exactly what we were doing,' he answered calmly. 'Daniel starts at Hogwarts School on Friday...'

'Daniel does _not_ start at Hogwarts School on Friday,' Stephanie snarled. 'He will start at Gosford High, like everyone else.'

'With all due respect,' the teacher cut over her shout, 'it is not your decision.'

'Says who?' The woman screamed, drawing ever closer to the teacher. 'He's my son.'

'The law of the land,' Greg held his nerve. 'Any eleven-year-old in Britain who is eligible for a magical education has the right to a place of Hogwarts. End of story.'

' _Your_ land,' Stephanie glared at him, her features contorting with rage. ' _Your_ laws.'

'Wizarding laws are perfectly compatible with those of the muggle world,' Greg explained. 'If Daniel wishes to go to Hogwarts, he goes to Hogwarts.'

'Fine!' Stephanie exploded, turning back to the eleven-year-old. 'Go to your fucking school, you treacherous little shit!' She marched towards him. 'Just don't think you're getting any help from me on the way. Give me your keys,' she commanded, and Daniel, eyes wide, passed his set of house keys over without argument, 'and don't fucking come back!' Stephanie stormed back into the house, slamming the door behind her.

'Dan...' Greg swallowed, turning his attention to the eleven-year-old, who stood, still open-mouthed, on the garden path. 'Come on... let's go. I'll work something out.'

Without a word, the eleven-year-old nodded, picking up his bags and traipsing back to the front door of the hatchback. This time, there was no music to fill the trip back to London.


	6. A New Start?

Neither Greg nor Daniel uttered a word between the Oxford estate, where the eleven-year-old had just seen his mother slam the door in his face, and the small London flat that the teacher now called home. Greg only broke the silence as the hatchback ground to a halt outside the converted Victorian house. 'Come on in, Dan,' he offered. 'You can stay here for now.'

Daniel looked across to the man, his hazel eyes narrow underneath his dirty fringe. 'Okay,' he muttered, pushing himself up and following the man up a flight of stairs into his apartment.

'Theo?' Greg called out. 'You in? Guess not...' The teacher shrugged. 'Come on, Dan,' he repeated, 'have a seat.'

The eleven-year-old limped across to a black leather sofa, which Theo and Greg had chosen for its likeness to those in the Slytherin common room, and dropped his bags at its base, leaving Greg to join him a couple of minutes later. 'I'm sorry, Daniel,' Greg offered, tamely.

'It's fine,' the boy choked, turning to look up at the teacher as his eyes began to fill with tears, before burying his head into Greg's shoulder as a series of sobs wracked his body. The teacher shuffled awkwardly, shifting his arm from behind Daniel's back and onto the boy's free shoulder as the sound of his crying filled the flat, uninterrupted until the main door clattered open.

'Greg?' Theo's voice startled the eleven-year-old as he entered the room. 'Good trip, mate?' He asked, without properly looking around. 'Bloody hell,' his eyes locked onto Daniel's disconsolate body. 'You didn't tell me you were going shopping as well,' he joked. 'How much did that one cost?'

Daniel snorted as he heard the other man's comment, and Greg was grateful for the distraction as he got to his feet. 'Long story, mate, long story...' he shook his head. 'Anyway, Theo, this is Daniel Hamilton. Muggle-born wizard like we were. Dan, this is Theo Forrest – my best friend from school, now beater for Wimbourne Wasps.'

'Nice to meet you, Dan,' Theo grinned, and the boy wiped his eyes, struggling to manage a smile in reply.

'Hi,' Daniel offered.

Greg smiled. 'Your turn to cook tonight, Theo,' he announced. 'Dan can give you a hand. I've got a whole heap of stuff I've got to sort out.'

'You're on tomorrow and Wednesday, then,' the other man shot back.

'Fine,' Greg shrugged. 'As long as you've got tonight,' he stood up, heading for the fireplace, 'and have a bloody shower first!'

'I've just had four hours of Quidditch, and it's nearly thirty degrees out there,' Theo protested, watching his friend disappear into the flames. 'What do you fancy then, kid?'

The August sun had just dipped below the horizon, lending an orange glow that coloured the front room of the flat, by the time that Greg returned to his London home.

'There's a curry in the fridge, mate,' Theo looked up from a television set that broadcast a rugby match into the men's flat.

'Thanks,' Greg sighed, following his friend's instructions to seek out a plateful of chicken and rice, and reheating it with a lazy flick of his wand. 'What a day,' he groaned, sinking onto the sofa beside the other man. 'What a bloody day.'

Theo smirked, reaching out television's remote control and fading its volume down to a whisper. 'It's just a replay,' he explained. 'Fill me in, then.'

'How much has he told you?' Greg dug into his supper eagerly as he waited for his friend to answer. 'Actually, scratch that,' the professor corrected himself. 'How's he been?'

'Quiet,' Theo answered, honestly, 'but I don't blame him. He said his Mum didn't want him to go to Hogwarts, that was about it.'

'Did he say that she ended up telling him to "go to his fucking school, the treacherous little shit"?'

Theo winced. 'No, mate,' he swallowed. 'Shit. No wonder he's so down. You can't blame him, can you?'

Greg shook his head. 'At least I know _I_ got it right now,' he reflected, glumly. 'When I said our laws took precedence, that no one could stand in the way of a muggle-born boy who wanted to go to Hogwarts. I spent the whole journey back from Oxford praying I'd got that right.' He sighed. 'It's not like that makes things any better for Daniel, though.'

'What happens to him now?' Theo's attention had switched entirely from the rugby highlights on the television screen in front of him to his friend's story.

'Hogwarts on Friday,' Greg answered, flatly. 'Then Christmas and Easter holidays in the castle, which gives us until June to work something out for the summer.'

'What about before Friday?' Theo asked, and Greg looked down, guiltily, at his curry.

'I said I'd look after him,' he explained, forlornly. 'I'm sorry, mate, I should have checked it with you and everything, but I'd been at the ministry for hours whilst they went through their files and tried to track his father or his grandparents, and they found nothing. I didn't want him just chucked in a home somewhere for three days, not when he's had so much shit going on anyway...'

'Greg,' Theo interrupted, 'you _knew_ I wouldn't mind that, mate.'

The other man sighed. 'It's not just that,' he admitted, 'it still feels like my brain's going at a hundred miles per hour. I'm thinking about lessons starting next Monday, trying to teach for the first time ever, as well as being Head of House. I don't even know what I'm supposed to do for that! Then I've got the muggle-borns to think about, as well as the two kids who are supposed to be their buddies. I just can't help thinking that I'm going to fuck it all up...'

'I don't think you are, mate,' Theo countered.

'Me neither,' another voice interrupted the two men's conversation, and they turned over their shoulders to see Daniel leaning against the door that led to Theo's bedroom.

'Dan...' Greg stammered. 'I thought you were asleep.' He swallowed. 'How much did you hear?'

'All of it.'

Theo smiled. 'Including Professor Bennett's potty mouth?'

Greg rolled his eyes as Daniel nodded. 'Thanks for pointing that out, Theo,' he groaned. 'Just what I needed at the start of term. 1-0 to one of the kids already.'

'I don't mind,' Daniel's voice was quiet, and almost apologetic.

Greg sighed. 'I take it you haven't been to sleep then, Dan?'

The eleven-year-old shook his head.

'It's okay,' the teacher reassured him. 'I don't know why I thought you would have done after all that,' Greg smiled, grimly. 'Come here, mate,' he offered, shifting along the sofa to create a space between himself and Theo.

Daniel edged forwards, shuffling the short distance from the bedroom doorway into the front room. 'Sorry...' he began, but Greg cut him off abruptly before he could manage any more.

'Don't say that,' he insisted, firmly. 'You've done nothing wrong.'

'But...' Daniel protested, his eyes watering beneath his untidy fringe. 'If I... if I hadn't have been magic, then you wouldn't have had to do all this...'

'Oh, Daniel...' Greg dropped an arm over the boy's bare shoulders, pulling him close to his own tired work robes.

'But it's true,' the boy whimpered. 'It's the same as mum...' he paused, swallowing, 'the same as _she_ said. I'm good for nothing, useless...' his words dissolved into another film of tears against Greg's chest.

'Daniel...' Greg squeezed the boy's shoulder. 'That's not true. I swear it. I'd do everything I did today all over again if I had to.'

Daniel shook his head. 'Why?' he mumbled.

'Cause that's what Greg's like,' Theo interrupted, answering for his friend. 'Cause he always gives everyone a chance. Even back when we were first-years, he was like that. I remember there were these two kids in Gryffindor who were total arseholes for almost the whole year, but Greg still helped them when they needed it,' he explained. 'I'd have told them to get lost... but Greg didn't.'

'Delicately put, mate,' Greg rolled his eyes. 'I always remember what the Sorting Hat at Hogwarts told me the first time I put it on. It's your choices that show who you really are... and everyone deserves the chance to make the right choice.'

Daniel nodded slowly, wiping a tear from his left eye. 'Sorry...' he repeated.

'Forget it,' Greg smiled, 'and don't let me catch you saying that shit about being useless ever again... if you don't believe in yourself, who's going to?'

Daniel managed a weak grin. '2-0,' he whispered, and Theo couldn't keep himself from laughing aloud.

'You're buggered if he's going to keep track of everything you come out with between now and Friday,' he beamed.

'You're no better,' Greg shot back.

'So?' the other man was unconcerned. 'I'm not about to start working as his teacher!'

'It's okay,' Daniel spoke quietly. 'I don't mind if you swear. I'm used to it.'

Greg nodded slowly. 'I guess we were too, when we were first-years,' he took a deep breath. 'I mean, I'm not really bothered at all by it, but some people are. You've just got to be careful,' he cautioned. 'I don't want you going round next week and telling everyone that your professor swears all the time.'

'I won't!' Daniel insisted. 'You can trust me, I swear it... oh,' he grinned sheepishly, realising the accidental pun he had made.

'I bloody well hope so,' Theo grinned, as Greg rolled his eyes. 'You'll be in deep shit if we can't.'

Daniel echoed Theo's laughter. 'Too bloody right,' he beamed at the illicit pleasure of swearing in front of two adults.

'It doesn't need to be in every sentence!' Greg baulked, playfully cuffing the eleven-year-old round the ear.

'I know,' Daniel smiled. 'So,' he continued eagerly, 'what did you mean about a Sorting Hat?'

Greg allowed himself a wry grin, turning to make eye contact with his friend. 'This could be a long night.'

'Morning, Danny.' Greg greeted the eleven-year-old with a laugh as Daniel forced himself to his feet the next day.

The boy groaned. 'What time is it?'

'Nearly eleven o'clock,' Greg answered. 'You fell asleep on the sofa last night just after midnight, and we figured we'd just let you sleep.'

'Oh,' Daniel nodded, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as he recalled blurry memories of the night before. 'Where's Theo?'

'Quidditch practice,' Greg replied, bluntly. 'Leaves us with the day to please ourselves,' he checked his watch, exaggeratedly. 'Or half of it, at least.'

Daniel blushed, and Greg laughed again. 'It's okay, mate,' the teacher smiled, 'you had one hell of a day yesterday.'

'Yeah...' Daniel's energy seemed to drain out of his body as he remembered the previous day's events. 'Sometimes, I still don't think I really believe it all,' he murmured. 'But it's got to be true, hasn't it? I mean, I saw you walk into the fireplace yesterday, and then all that stuff that happened at the wand shop...'

'It's real, mate,' Greg reassured the boy. 'It just takes a bit of getting used to, that's all. Eggs for breakfast?' He changed the subject abruptly. 'Fried or scrambled?'

'Um... scrambled?'

'You're the boss,' Greg wandered towards his refrigerator door, retrieving a couple of large eggs before cracking them into a frying pan as the gas of a hob ring flickered into life. 'Anything you want to do today, Dan?'

'I don't know,' the eleven-year-old shrugged. 'I don't know anything about this world.' He crossed his hands defensively across his chest.

'Worth finding out, then?' Greg shot back. 'There's plenty to see if you want to,' he offered.

Daniel's expression didn't brighten. 'I guess,' he grunted. 'I don't know what, though.'

'It's okay, mate,' Greg tried to reassure the boy. 'I remember.'

'What did you tell your friends from school?' Daniel grasped at a question. 'What did you tell them when you went?'

Greg took a deep breath, playing for time as he turned back to the yellowing eggs. 'I was lucky,' he recalled. 'I was going to a different school anyway – the Grammar School in Torquay – and they weren't... so we were kind of growing apart anyway. Mum and Dad just said I was going to a boarding school instead, and that was it.'

'Did you miss them?'

The teacher sighed. 'I don't think so,' he frowned a little, 'not really. I knew Matt anyway – I'd known him for ages, and it turned out he was in the fourth year when I started – and I made new friends really quickly.'

'What are my friends going to think?' Daniel slumped down onto a metal stool as Greg pushed a plateful of breakfast in front of him. 'When I just disappear?'

Greg slipped onto the seat opposite Daniel, on the other side of a thin table. 'There's no easy answer, mate. You could do what I did... say that you're going to boarding school instead.'

'Mum... She would never,' Daniel began to protest, 'and anyway, they'd still wonder why I never came back.'

'Some boarding schools stay in at Christmas and Easter,' Greg offered. 'People move on pretty quick sometimes. I know that sounds horrible, but it's true.'

'Can I tell anyone anything?'

'Sorry,' Greg shook his head. 'Only immediate family are allowed to know about Hogwarts,' he explained. 'It's the law.'

Daniel's head dropped. 'Even my best friend?'

'I'm sorry,' the teacher repeated. 'You can still keep in touch,' he suggested. 'You can still write, as long as you're careful what you say.'

'Can I go and say goodbye?'

Greg paused. 'I suppose so,' he conceded. 'Then I figure there are a couple of things we ought to do before we go.' A wry grin spread across the teacher's face. 'Do you get travel sick?'

A fraction of a second later, Daniel found himself stumbling towards the bark of a wide oak tree, before pebble-dashing its roots with the remains of his breakfast.

'What,' the boy coughed, 'the fuck was that?' He retched again, but there was nothing more for his body to reject.

'It looks,' Greg answered dispassionately, 'like scrambled eggs.'

'Really?' Daniel turned to the teacher, and rolled his eyes. 'I never guessed.'

'You just Apparated,' Greg ignored the eleven-year-old's sarcasm. 'That's the way wizards get around,' he explained, 'but it does usually have that effect on first-timers.'

'You could have warned me.'

Greg's eyes sparkled. 'Yeah,' he admitted, 'but that would have spoiled the fun.'

Daniel groaned. 'So where are we?'

'Don't you recognise it?' Greg asked.

'Oh...' A look of recognition dawned across the boy's face as his eyes took in the greenery of the wide park that spread no more than a couple of hundred yards from the house he had grown up in.

'Shall we go see your mate, then?' Greg asked, as Daniel nodded. 'Do you know what you're going to say to him?'

'I guess,' the boy looked away. 'That I'm going to boarding school in Scotland, and I'll write to him.'

'Easy, right?' Greg smiled, wryly. 'Do you want me to come with?'

Daniel shook his head, decisively, as he turned onto the side road that led to his friend's house. 'I'll be fine. I mean, nothing can go wrong, can it?'

Greg shrugged. 'Depends what you tell him. You could put the whole of the wizarding world in danger...'

'I won't,' Daniel pleaded. 'I swear I won't.'

'I believe you, mate,' the teacher reassured the boy, 'but I think I still need to listen in. Here,' he dug around inside the pocket of his canvas shorts.

Daniel blinked. 'Is that... an ear?'

'Not a real one,' Greg grinned. 'It's plastic,' he explained. 'It's charmed, it's called an _Ear-We-Go_. You put it in your pocket, and I stick this my ear,' he fished a small, almost transparent clip from his shorts, 'and I can hear everything that goes on.' He paused. 'Remember the joke shop in Diagon Alley, the one that Lou and Al's uncle owns? I got it from there.'

'Alright,' Daniel considered the man's suggestion, before nodding cautiously. 'I guess that's okay.'

Greg smiled, passing Daniel the plastic ear and subtly clipping his own earpiece into place. 'I'll wait back at the egg tree in the park,' he grinned, leaving the eleven-year-old to roll his eyes as he turned to reach for Connor Norris' doorbell.

'Dan!' The other boy, no taller than his friend and with short, messy blond hair answered the chime with enthusiasm. 'What happened? I heard your mum kicked you out...'

'I'll tell you what happened, mate,' Daniel answered glumly, his voice bereft of any energy. 'Can we go inside first, though?'

'Well done, Daniel,' Greg held out a consoling arm as the boy trudged back to the old oak a quarter of an hour later. 'That can't have been easy.'

Daniel shook his head.

'Come on, mate,' the teacher held the boy close to him. 'Let's go. It's easier second time round.' A crack echoed around the trees of Cutteslowe Park, and the two wizards returned to London.

'Was he the boy you were playing with on the day I met you?' Greg made an effort at conversation as they re-appeared in the living room of his flat, but the eleven-year-old only nodded. 'I take it you were close friends, then?'

'Best friends,' Daniel answered, his voice hollow as he fought to blink tears back out of his eyes. 'I wish I could tell him!' He blurted out. 'I wish he was coming too!'

'I'm sorry...'

'You don't understand!' Daniel yelled out, losing his own internal battle as his eyes rimmed red and his cheeks began to burn. 'You just don't get it! Nobody does!' He turned on his heel, storming away from the teacher and holing himself up in the sanctuary of the flat's bathroom, leaving Greg speechless in his wake.

'Give him time,' the teacher whispered to himself, slowly sitting down on top of one of the room's black leather sofas. 'Remember your first year,' he recalled the arguments his friends had endured, both with one another and the other Houses, 'and you didn't have half of what he's got to cope with. Let him deal with it himself. He'll come through.'

Greg settled onto the seat, flicking through the sports channels to find a re-run of the previous day's football, and hoping that his intuition would be proven right. Half an hour later, it was.

'Professor Bennett?' A cracked voice wavered over the television's background noise, and Greg immediately dimmed the set's volume before he answered.

'Dan,' Greg answered, simply. 'You alright?'

The eleven-year-old edged forward, brushing both his fringe and the shadows of his tears away from his eyelids. 'I guess,' he murmured, before hurrying into an apology. 'I didn't mean it,' he blustered. 'I...'

'Dan,' the teacher cut him off, gently. 'I know,' he smiled, patting the cushion beside him. 'Come here, mate.'

Wordlessly, Daniel followed the man's instructions before slumping, half against the back of the sofa, and half against Greg himself.

'You were right,' the teacher consoled. 'I never went through what you're going through, not exactly,' he paused, resting a hand on the boy's shoulder, 'but between my friends and me, we've seen most of it.'

Now it was Daniel's turn to nod his head. 'I know, I'm sorry,' he swallowed. 'It's just... I don't know how I'll cope there. What if I can't do any of the magic?'

'I remember feeling _exactly_ like that,' Greg managed a thin smile, 'and I bet Theo did too. Look at us now,' he reflected. 'To tell you the truth, even the magic-born kids haven't done much proper stuff before they start school. You won't be that far behind. It'll just be things like Quidditch – learning what everything means – and you'll just have to ask questions when you're not sure. Your friends won't mind.'

'I haven't got any friends here,' Daniel answered back, despondently.

'You will,' Greg insisted. 'It's a new start, isn't it, and anyway, what about the boys you've already met? Al, Louis and Nathan? Do you want to go and see one of them tomorrow? I could take you all to go and play some Quidditch... at least learn to fly.'

Daniel grimaced. 'Do they have to come?'

'Well... no,' the teacher blinked. 'I just thought you might like it if they did.'

The boy shook his head. 'Can I do it by myself, then?' He repeated his question. 'That way I can at least learn some stuff that they don't.'

Greg smiled, recalling his conversation with Arthur Weasley the previous week. 'Knowing what you want, and how to get it. That's Slytherin all right.'


	7. Boys Alone

'Are you sure he's definitely asleep this time?' Theo smiled, wryly, as he watched his friend and flatmate gently close his bedroom door.

Greg rolled his eyes. 'Muffliato,' he whispered, pointing to the door handle. 'Safe either way.'

'I remember there was another orphan kid once,' Theo recalled, airily. 'About eighty years ago, I think it was. He didn't like people much, either.'

'Oh, bugger off, Theo.' Greg planted himself onto one of the long, black sofas of the front room. 'He just needs some time to get used to it.' The man crossed his legs over the armrest at the end of the sofa.

'So why isn't he getting to know the other kids, then?' Theo persisted. 'They're only going to help him, aren't they?'

'He's had three days,' Greg shot back, 'and he knows he's going to meet the others again tomorrow, on the Express.'

Theo grimaced. 'Still,' he argued, 'You'd think he might like to get to know them.'

'I reckon it's still too soon,' the teacher reasoned. 'He'll still be thinking about Connor,' Greg suggested. 'I don't know if I could have had that conversation... leaving my best mate, and lying to him about it as well. Hell,' he shook his head. 'It was hard enough just listening to it.'

'Doesn't that worry you, though, mate?' Theo winced. 'That he could do that, at his age, and hold it together?'

'He didn't hold it together,' Greg's voice faded. 'We got back, and he cracked. Locked himself in the bathroom for half an hour. He's not a robot.'

Theo nodded, slowly. 'You never said.'

'I didn't want to think about it.' Greg sighed, before cursing aloud. 'That's not what I should be doing, is it? It's not about me any more, it's about the kids...'

Theo's answer came quietly. 'They've not let you learn the easy way, have they?'

'Never did, did they?' Greg laughed, hollowly, 'Our first year was hardly straightforward, was it?'

'Still, Dan trusts you, though, doesn't he?' Theo tried to steer the conversation elsewhere.

The teacher grunted, feebly. 'Like that counts for anything,' he dismissed his friend's thought.

'Of course it does,' Theo argued back. 'Do you think he'd ever have got back on that broom this afternoon otherwise?'

Greg shrugged.

'What was it you said to him the other day? Don't give you that shit about being useless? You're the same sometimes, Greg.'

'I haven't done anything,' the teacher protested.

'Sure,' Theo rolled his eyes. 'It's just luck that a kid who doesn't trust anyone has started to believe in you.' He paused. 'Sometimes, when you do things right, people won't be sure you've done anything at all.'

Greg nodded, slowly. 'I suppose,' he admitted. 'Who said that?'

'I dunno,' Theo smiled. 'I heard it on a repeat of _Futurama_ last night.' He broke into a laugh, and his friend couldn't help but join in. 'You'd better be careful, though,' the blond man cautioned. 'If you let him down then he's gonna find it almost impossible to trust anyone again.'

'Yeah,' Greg's voice turned sombre. 'I know,' he agreed. 'I'd better not let that happen.'

'Well, that's everything on the list sorted,' Greg confirmed, letting Daniel's Hogwarts letter drop to the kitchen table. 'All set for Kings Cross?'

Daniel, his fringe hanging straighter but still rust-brown, nodded seriously. 'Yes.'

'Good man,' Greg smiled. 'I have to say, you do look smart, mate.'

The boy nodded again, fiddling distractedly with the hem of a new cotton polo shirt that he had just jerked free from a pair of white chinos.

'We'd better get moving, then,' Greg decided, noting with little surprise that the eleven-year-old didn't seem in the mood for conversation, and hoping that he would have relaxed a little by the time he boarded the train. 'Promise me you won't throw up this time?'

Daniel needed to brace himself to keep his promise, but the two wizards quickly found themselves standing outside the staircase that led from the adjacent Underground station, waiting to meet Nathan and Philip Llewellyn, as the teacher had arranged.

'Morning,' the other boy's father greeted them, shortly the clock had struck their agreed meeting time of half past ten. 'I think we've got everything,' he blustered. 'Kathleen would have rather he had a few more changes of underwear, but I suppose there'll be plenty of laundry done at the school, won't there? And spares if there are problems...?'

'Yes, Philip,' Greg cut him off gently, having noticed Nathan's face growing steadily redder. 'I daresay that so long as he makes it onto the train at eleven o'clock, everything will be alright.' The teacher smiled warmly at Nathan, once again wearing shirt and tie, who shivered in spite of the early September warmth.

'Good, good...' The man muttered, distractedly, oblivious to the two boys' wary stares as Greg led the group towards the gap between platforms 9 and 10, where he alone knew of the location of the magical gateway that led to the Hogwarts Express beyond.

'This was always easier before they put these automated barriers in,' Greg complained, shaking his head as he inspected the credit card-sized green and orange ticket that had persuaded the station staff to let the group onto the platforms. 'London Stations to Aviemore... True enough, I suppose, but we really should get some Ministry staff here on Express days. Talking to myself here, aren't I?' He turned to the two boys. 'It's simple from here, lads,' he announced with a grin. 'Just walk through the wall.'

'What?' Daniel baulked, whilst Nathan's face just paled.

'You heard right,' Greg repeated himself. 'Walk through the wall: it takes you through to Platform 9¾.' He paused, sensing the boys' disbelief. 'Well, where else do you see it, then?' He challenged them, recalling his conversation with Theo the previous night. 'Don't you believe me?'

Daniel stepped forward, before shooting a dismissive stare at Nathan's still-frozen expression. 'I believe you, sir. Just through there, right?'

Greg nodded. 'Yep. Just walk straight at the wall with your trolley and you'll go through it like it's not there. I did it with my eyes shut the first time.'

'Alright,' Daniel took a deep breath, before gritting his teeth and beginning a steady walk into – and through – the wall onto Platform 9¾.

'See,' Greg turned back to Nathan, and noticed that the boy's eyes had started to rim with tears. 'It's nothing to worry about, mate. Shall we do it together?' He held out a hand, and Nathan clenched it eagerly, wiping his eyes with his other forearm. 'Best take hold of the trolley, Philip,' the teacher advised. 'Else you might not make it through. Come on,' Greg cajoled the Llewellyns, 'Dan'll be waiting.'

'Welcome,' the teacher announced, seconds later, 'to Platform 9¾.' He rested a hand on Daniel's shoulder, catching up to the eleven-year-old as he followed the boy through the barrier. 'What do you reckon, then? Not quite Diagon Alley,' he continued, 'but not bad, right?'

'Yeah,' Daniel echoed, open-mouthed, as he watched the scarlet locomotive let off a great cloud of steam. 'Not bad.'

'We're meeting the others by the clock,' the teacher explained, leading the small group across the concourse towards an ornate iron structure, hanging from one of the stone pillars at the station edge. 'Then we'll get you all on board and I guess I'll see you at the Sorting.'

'Aren't you coming on the train?' Daniel asked.

'No,' Greg shook his head. 'I've got a list of things this long that I need to get done before you guys all arrive. I'd meant to get it all done this week, but, you know, something more important came up.' He smiled, and the eleven-year-old grinned in return.

'Alright,' the boy acknowledged. 'How long will the journey take?'

'About seven or eight hours,' Greg answered. 'It's a long way to the top of Scotland... but the feast is worth the wait. You've never seen anything like it,' he grinned. 'Go with the T-Bone steak.' The man turned back to face Nathan, whom he still hadn't heard speak that morning. 'Okay, mate?' He asked, gently. 'Nervous?'

Nathan nodded, still wordless.

'That's okay,' Greg smiled. 'That's normal.'

'He's barely said a word since he got up,' Philip admitted. 'Not a thing.'

'Lots to take in, right,' the teacher ruffled the boy's blond hair. 'I don't blame you, Nathan. You'll never have a day like this again. Still up for it?'

'Yes, sir,' he whispered.

'Good lad,' Greg let his arm drop onto the boy's shoulder. 'Enjoy it,' he glanced across the platform for a sight of either of the families whose sons were due to meet the two muggle-borns, and was rewarded by a wave of recognition from Albus Potter.

'Professor Bennett, I presume?' An older man, his face an echo of his younger son's dark hair and thin glasses, extended a warm arm towards the teacher. 'A man who has made the last week in my house a much quieter time than it otherwise might have been.'

'I'm sorry,' Greg took the man's arm. 'I'm not sure I follow.'

Harry Potter smiled. 'James here,' he indicated a boy with wiry dark hair and a spark in his brown eyes, 'has been giving Albus a hard time about the Sorting all summer. Now, for some reason, Al doesn't seem quite so bothered by the possibility of Slytherin.'

Greg returned the other man's smile, as a look of understanding dawned on his face. 'Glad to help,' he replied. 'I guess that makes us square,' he paused. 'You probably don't remember... I met you in my first year, in the boxes at Mynydd Eilian.'

'I remember,' Harry nodded. 'When Albus was small enough to fit in your lap...'

'Dad!' Albus complained, as the rest of his family laughed at the eleven-year-old's expense.

'Sorry, Al,' the boy's father apologised, 'but you were very cute when you were a baby.'

'Urgh...' Albus squirmed, turning away from the adults as his cheeks blushed red. 'You're so embarrassing...'

'I think he's ready to go, Harry,' a red-haired woman whispered in her husband's ear as she watched her younger son turn his back on his parents.

'Good,' the man answered, lowering his voice as Albus began to talk with Daniel. 'If you'd have asked me a week ago, I'd have been afraid he wasn't. What are we waiting for, then?' He changed the subject abruptly. 'Shall we get them on board?'

'Give them a minute,' Greg cautioned. 'Let's wait for Louis.'

Harry smiled, knowingly. 'Could be some time there, I fear, with his sisters. I think we get these lads on and worry about Louis when he gets here. Don't want to be scratching around for seats.'

'Fair enough,' Greg decided against arguing with the other man's knowledge of his own nieces and nephews. 'Come on, guys,' he announced, 'you heard the man.'

There was no shortage of empty compartments on the Hogwarts Express as the three first-years filed quietly onto the train, behind the adults who carried their cases.

'This one do?' Albus' father asked, and none of the children contradicted him. 'I'll leave you to it, then, shall I?' He smiled, having – with Greg's help – lifted the boys' cases onto the compartment's parcel shelves. 'Don't forget to write, Al,' he reminded his son, 'and remember to wave goodbye to your mother.'

'I will, Dad. Goodbye,' the black-haired boy nodded, watching as his father turned his back on them. 'See you at Christmas.'

'See you, Al,' Harry's voice echoed down the train's corridor as the three children found themselves alone inside their compartment. Albus and Daniel quickly settled onto opposite seats beside the window that looked back out onto the platform, whilst Nathan opted for the opposite corner.

'Have you ever been to Hogwarts before?' Daniel offered, breaking the silence after a few uncomfortable moments.

'No,' Albus replied, quickly. 'Mum and Dad always said that they didn't want to spoil my first time.'

'Oh,' Daniel nodded. 'Have they told you anything about it at all?' He persisted with his questions. 'Professor Bennett's told me a bit, about some of the Houses.'

'They told me a bit,' Albus blinked, 'but not much. Hagrid's probably told me more than Mum and Dad have,' he reflected, 'and so's James, but I don't know whether to believe him.'

Daniel smiled. 'What's he told you?'

'He said there are dragons in the forest outside,' the black-haired boy recalled, 'and that in the lessons you have to fight trolls and vampires...'

'Vampires?' Daniel shuddered. 'They aren't real, are they?'

Albus nodded. 'They're real, alright,' he spoke quietly, 'but there aren't many of them now, and most of them that are left only live on reservations in the Black Forest.' He swallowed. 'They're not going to make first-years fight them!'

'Oh,' Daniel grinned, nervously. 'Right. I guess that means that a lot of other things that I thought weren't real actually are?'

'What like?' Albus brushed his fringe out of his eyes.

'Werewolves?'

'Real,' the black-haired boy answered. 'My god-brother, Teddy, his Dad was a werewolf. He died in the war... You know about the war, right?'

'Just about,' Daniel nodded. 'Professor Bennett told me what happened.'

'Did he tell you about my Dad?' Albus asked, tentatively.

'No,' the other boy replied, shortly. 'Why would he do that?'

'Oh,' Albus swallowed, 'no reason.'

'Well, okay,' Daniel shrugged. 'What about ghosts? Are they real?'

'Yes,' the black-haired boy grinned. 'They're definitely real! There's lots at Hogwarts... everybody knows that.' He paused, suddenly correcting himself. 'Everyone who's magic-born, I mean.'

'Anything else?' Daniel creased up his face, deep in thought. 'Like trolls?'

'Yep,' Albus nodded again, 'they're real too... and mermaids, and phoenixes, and goblins, and giants...'

'Stop,' Daniel interrupted the other boy, glancing along the compartment. 'I think you're going to make him shit himself,' he laughed at Nathan's expense, as the blond boy drew ever more tightly in on himself in the corner of the carriage.

'I won't mention the really scary ones, then,' Albus, 'like the griffin and the manticore and the nundu... oh, whoops.' He joined in with Daniel's laughter, unconcerned by the other boy's obvious distress. 'Guess he won't be in Gryffindor, then – never brave enough for that!'

'Which House do you think you're going to be in, Al?' Daniel found himself easily shortening the other boy's name.

'I don't know,' the black-haired boy freely admitted. 'James used to tease me about being in Slytherin, but I don't think I'd really mind that any more, not now that I've met Professor Bennett.'

'Yeah,' Daniel echoed. 'I don't think I fit with any of the others, anyway.'

'It would be good to be in a House with someone I know,' Albus acknowledged the other boy's assertion.

'What about your cousins?' Daniel asked, surprised. 'Louis is your cousin, right?'

'Yeah,' Albus nodded, 'Rose too... but they won't end up in Slytherin. Rose is too brainy and Louis... well...' he tailed off, looking up as the red-haired boy pushed open the compartment door. 'Hi, Lou,' he changed his tone. 'Dad was right that you'd be late...'

Louis had opened his mouth to begin to argue, only for the shrill whistle of the locomotive to cut him off, and force the eleven-year-old to steady himself against the frame of the door. 'So,' he shrugged. 'I'm here, right?'

'Right,' Albus rolled his eyes, turning to the window to wave goodbye to his mother and father as he had promised. 'Only just.'

Louis flopped onto the empty seat opposite Nathan. 'Hey,' he greeted the blond boy, 'you alright?'

'Don't expect him to say anything back,' Daniel answered for the other muggle-born. 'We haven't heard him speak all morning,' he smirked.

'We were just talking about which House we wanted to be in,' Albus continued, 'but I'm not sure there is one for people who can't speak. Maybe Hufflepuff, for the leftovers.'

Louis gritted his teeth. 'Albus...' he warned.

'What?' The black-haired boy shot back. 'Don't tell me you think he should be in Gryffindor with you and your sisters when he's scared of everything that moves.'

'Albus,' Louis repeated, his cheeks beginning to burn red. 'Can I talk to you for a moment,' he swallowed, 'outside?' The redhead pulled the sliding door of the compartment open, and held it there, challenging his cousin to stand up and grant his request.

'Fine,' Albus grunted, getting to his feet and following Louis into the corridor of the carriage.

'What the hell is that all about?' Louis snapped as the door slammed shut behind his cousin.

'What's what all about?' Albus retorted, equally sharply.

'You know what,' Louis was undeterred. 'Talking to him like that! They're muggle-borns! We're supposed to be helping them!'

'Not babysitting,' Albus rolled his eyes, 'cause that's what he needs right now, he's not even trying to talk to us. You should have seen him when we were talking about dragons, he nearly wet himself...'

'So what?' Louis' nostrils flared. 'He's scared! Wouldn't you be?'

'Ooh,' Albus taunted, 'Veela time.'

'Fuck you!' Louis shouted. 'I don't know what House I'm going to end up in, but you're going to be in fucking Slytherin, I can tell!'

'Excuse me,' an older boy interrupted the eleven-year-old's tirade. 'I don't know who you are, but we don't tolerate language like that at Hogwarts. If you had a House I would be taking points from it.'

'But...' Louis began to protest, only for the prefect to cut him off instantly.

'I'm not discussing it,' the older boy insisted. 'If you don't like him, don't sit with him.'

'Fine,' Louis snorted, wrenching the compartment door back open. 'Come on Nathan, I'm not sitting here with this _flipping_ idiot.' He grabbed the blond boy by the hand, leading him away along the train.

'See you later, loser!' Albus called spitefully after him, before slamming the door shut once more as he rejoined Daniel. 'Stupid French tosser,' he snarled. 'Hasn't even got a sense of humour.'

'Forget him,' Daniel shrugged. 'Who cares what he thinks, anyway? Just because he's related to you, that doesn't mean you should listen to him. Trust me on that one.'

Albus nodded. 'Just wait until all of the others find out...'

Louis Weasley was still fuming as he heaved open the door of the next empty compartment he could find, a narrow slit of a room that sat cramped in the far end of one of the carriages, with just the one bench hemmed in against its wall. 'Idiot,' he repeated, before turning to make eye contact with Nathan for the first time since the argument with his cousin. 'I can't believe him, I really can't,' he paused, 'I'm sorry, Nathan,' he stuttered. 'This wasn't supposed to be like this.' The redhead swallowed, feeling the sudden prickling of tears against the backs of his eyes. 'It really wasn't...' His head slumped against the cold pane of glass of the carriage window. 'All cause I was late...'

'Louis,' Nathan whispered, hoarsely. 'It's not your fault,' he rested a hand on the other boy's shoulder. 'I should have said something to them... and they're right,' he looked down at his shoes. 'I am scared.'

Louis looked up, turning away from the window before rubbing the moisture from his eyes.

'What did they mean by the Houses?' Nathan asked. 'How do they choose which one you're in? What's so bad about Slytherin?'

Louis blinked, surprised by the other boy's last question.

'I heard you through the window,' Nathan admitted, sheepishly. 'You must have shouted very loud...'

'Oh,' Louis blushed. 'The school has four Houses – Gryffindor, Slytherin, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. Each of them is meant to be for different types of people... brave, ambitious, clever, and loyal. You find out what House you're going to be in when you try on the Sorting Hat.'

'Sorting Hat?' Nathan echoed, and the redhead nodded.

'That's what my family told me,' he explained. 'You put it on, and it looks into your mind and chooses for you.' Louis sighed. 'They've all been in Gryffindor, and they expect me to be, too.'

'Gryffindor's the brave one, right?' Nathan asked, and the other boy nodded. 'They're right; I won't be in that one.'

'Don't say that,' Louis protested.

Nathan shook his head. 'It's true, though. I'm not brave,' he whimpered. 'What are the other Houses about?'

'Ravenclaw's for the clever ones,' the redhead answered. 'My cousins Molly and Lucy are there. They're fourth-years now. Hufflepuff's for hard workers – but everyone else think it's just for anyone the other Houses don't want.'

'The leftovers,' Nathan recalled Albus' jibe. 'What about Slytherin, then?'

'It's supposed to be for people who are cunning and ambitious,' Louis explained, 'but it's got a reputation for being _evil_ instead. Almost all the Dark wizards in history came from Slytherin.'

Nathan nodded, slowly. 'Professor Bennett was Slytherin, though, wasn't he? He's not a Dark wizard, right?' The blond boy's face creased with confusion.

'No,' Louis shook his head, 'but still...'

'What if I end up in Slytherin, and you don't?' Nathan asked nervously. 'Would you still be my friend?'

Louis nodded, immediately. 'If I end up in Slytherin, and you don't, will you still be my friend?'

'Yes!' For the first time that September morning, Nathan Llewellyn smiled.


	8. Hats and Houses

'Looks different from up here, hey?' Greg leaned across the staff table at the head of the Great Hall towards Neal Kennedy, whispering to his colleague as the teachers watched a knot of first-year children tread timidly along the centre of the room.

'Bet it brings back some memories, though?' The older man replied. 'I remember my Sorting,' he mused. 'It was only a year after the war... you could still see the damage around the castle.'

'I don't think I'll ever forget mine,' Greg nodded. 'Not as long as I live.'

'I don't reckon anyone will,' Neal agreed. 'Did you expect Slytherin?' He tried to sound casual. 'I mean, I don't think I ever asked you.'

'Sort of,' the other man admitted, 'because of Matt and Ossie. I wanted to be with them... I knew that Slytherins weren't all bad.'

Neal smiled, knowingly. 'Then then fun began, right. What a year that was...'

'Yeah,' Greg grinned. 'We had some really boring History of Magic lessons though, this seventh-year bloke...'

'Ha, ha, Greg,' Neal groaned. 'Very funny. You loved it, really.'

'Yeah, you were alright,' the Slytherin laughed, 'better than Binns, at least.'

Neal sighed. 'Thanks, mate,' he rolled his eyes. 'Real ringing endorsement, that.'

'What about your Sorting?' Greg changed the subject subtly as the gaggle of first-years came to a halt at the front of the Hall. 'Did you expect to be in Ravenclaw? What did the Hat say to you?'

'It said I was the cleverest head it had ever sat on,' Neal grinned, 'and that there was only one place that I could possibly go...'

Greg snorted into his glass of pumpkin juice, only to be silenced by a sharp glance from Hermione Weasley as she stood up at the front of the stage. 'When I call your name,' she announced, 'you will step forward and try on the Sorting Hat, and then join your House Table.'

'Five galleons says we'll get more first-years than you,' Neal lowered his voice.

'Yeah, you're probably right,' Greg shrugged. 'We don't just take anyone who likes to read. We've got standards.'

This time Neal had to conceal a snigger, hiding his mouth behind his hands. Greg just smiled, before turning his attention away from his colleague as the Hat in front of them began to quiver into life.

 _Welcome, welcome, one and all_

 _To Hogwarts, and to our Great Hall_

 _Beneath its roof sit our Houses four_

 _Ambitious Slytherin, Brave Gryffindor_

 _Loyal Hufflepuff, Wise Ravenclaw_

 _Each awash with honour and more_

 _No matter what I choose to do_

 _I will find the right path for you_

 _You may think that you know the right place_

 _But I can see deeper than just your face_

 _Bravery is not simply rushing straight in_

 _Or stepping forward when the ice is thin_

 _It's being the one who is there at the end_

 _Standing beside those you call your friends_

 _Loyalty, too, is deeper than words_

 _It's action when the pot is stirred_

 _And wisdom is more than just reading a book_

 _It's about knowing all the best places to look_

 _As for ambition, the will to win the Cup_

 _It's easy to say, but easier to give up_

 _Yes, you may think that you know the right place_

 _But I can see how you will fare in a race_

 _Let me in, let me explore your mind_

 _I'll do my best with the knowledge I find_

'That Hat's getting creepier, I swear it,' Oliver Wood leaned across from Neal Kennedy's other side. 'When's the last time it said something that didn't freak you out, just a little bit?'

'It's just trying to scare the first-years,' Greg shook his head. 'Nothing much has happened for a few years, has it? It's just having a bit of fun.'

'Hey, Oli,' Neal cast his eyes back to the silent bunch of eleven-year-olds as the first of their number inched nervously towards the Hat. 'Do you ever remember any of the firsties fainting?'

'Are we counting your lessons?' The Scotsman shot back, a wry grin on his face. 'No, not until they get a bit too high on their brooms, anyway.'

'That one doesn't look too good, though, does he?' Neal pointed out a pale-faced boy at the back of the group.

'Oh, shit,' Greg remarked, following the other man's gaze. 'That's Nathan. One of the muggle-borns,' he explained.

'Done a good job with him, then, mate,' Wood laughed. 'Looks right prepared for it...'

'What's his surname?' Neal asked, quickly. 'How long's he got to wait?'

'Shouldn't be too long,' Greg answered, dully. 'His name's Llewellyn.'

'Where do you think he's...' Neal broke off from his question to applaud as 'Corner, Alexander' became the first new Ravenclaw. 'Sorry,' the Head of House turned back to Greg. 'Where do you think that boy's going to sort?'

'No idea,' the Slytherin slumped back in his chair, considering his answer. 'I know it's hard to tell sometimes, but I hardly know the kid. He's bloody powerful, I can promise you that – I've seen him cause a thunderstorm, for Merlin's sake – but he just seems shit-scared of everything with it.'

'Not a Gryffindor, then?' Wood remarked.

Neal snorted. 'Doubt it, mate,' he shook his head. 'Besides, you've got more than half of them already, and we're only down to 'G'.

'Hamilton, Daniel.'

'This one's mine,' Greg whispered.

'SLYTHERIN!'

'Told you,' the teacher smiled, nodding to Daniel as the eleven-year-old chanced an upward glance at the staff table. 'He's the other muggle-born.'

'Good call, mate,' Neal conceded. 'That's your first kid, though, right?'

'Right,' Greg had to admit, 'but like I said, we've got standards,' he grinned, slyly, as a short girl became another Ravenclaw. 'We don't just take little bookworms.'

'Llewellyn, Nathan.'

'Place your bets,' Neal murmured. 'Sounds like a Hufflepuff to me.'

'Well I don't reckon I want him,' Wood whispered as the Sorting Hat fell down over Nathan's blond fringe. 'So I'll call Ravenclaw. You can have him, Kennedy.'

'So what am I left with?' Greg questioned. 'Gryffindor or Slytherin?' He baulked. 'That's a crap bet, isn't it. I'll go Gryffindor, just to see the look on your face...'

'One galleon each?' Neal suggested, and the other men agreed. 'And if he gets stuck under the hat and it decides he's too wet to bother with, then we stick it all in the Christmas party fund.'

Louis Weasley couldn't take his eyes off the boy underneath the Sorting Hat. 'Please let him be Gryffindor, please let him be Gryffindor...' he whispered to himself, glancing around to check that Albus wasn't close enough to overhear.

'Is it meant to take this long?' Another unsorted first-year whispered to a boy next to him.

'I don't think so,' the other child shook his head. 'What do you think's happening?'

Louis flicked the fringe of his red-brown hair from his eyes, biting his bottom lip as he stared at the other boy, still motionless on the stool beneath the Hat. 'It can't make its mind up,' he shivered.

'So what happens next?'

'I don't know,' Louis mumbled, feeling a rash of sweat against the collar of his robes. 'He has to have a House.'

'Well I wish it would just get on with it!'

'SLYTHERIN!'

Louis' mouth dropped open as Hermione Weasley lifted the Sorting Hat from Nathan's head, nudging him towards the green and silver of his new House table.

' _Fucking_ Slytherin, right?' Louis felt Albus elbow him in the back before hearing his taunt, but simply turned away from his cousin without uttering a word of his own in reply. Louis glanced over his shoulder towards the Slytherin table, searching out Nathan's pale face, oblivious to 'Malfoy, Scorpius' sorting into Ravenclaw.

'What's happening?' He whispered to himself, edging further away from his cousin. 'Why's he in Slytherin? I don't understand...' He bowed his head, as the clamour of the Sorting faded to dull background noise behind him, punctuated only by the shuffle of bodies around him as the remaining first-years took their turns to be sorted.

'Potter, Albus.'

'SLYTHERIN!'

A gasp echoed around the Great Hall, but Louis only sighed, hearing a verdict he had half-feared and half-expected ever since their argument on the train. He had never been particularly close to Albus, but neither had he ever really fought with his cousin... until that morning. He glanced around, watching Albus squeeze beside Daniel on the Slytherin table, as Nathan shrunk away from the other first-years.

'Can you believe it?' Rose Weasley shook her cousin back to the moment. 'Albus, in Slytherin? I know James was saying it but I never really believed he would end up there, did you? Louis, did you?'

'Did I what?' The redhead blinked, his mind still distracted.

'Did you think Al would end up in Slytherin?' Rose persisted.

'I'm not _that_ surprised,' Louis admitted, softly. 'He can be pretty harsh sometimes...'

'Al?' Rose's voice squeaked. 'You can't mean that! He's so sweet and kind...'

Louis coughed. 'You asked me what I thought, didn't you?' He snarled. 'If you don't like it, fine, whatever. It's true, though.' Louis watched coldly as another of his cousins turned their back on him. 'Great,' he thought to himself. 'Two cousins down...'

'Weasley, Louis.'

'Shit,' the eleven-year-old muttered. 'Here goes nothing.' He trudged up to the stage, planting the Sorting Hat over his long fringe. 'Come on then,' he grumbled. 'Do your worst.'

'Temper, temper, my man,' the Hat's voice came back, startling the boy slightly. 'I'm here to do my best for you, not my worst.'

'Then why did you sort Nathan into Slytherin?' Louis countered. 'He's not a Slytherin!'

'He is what I say he is,' the Sorting Hat brooked no argument. 'As for you, to come up here and to think you know better than I do...'

'I'm just worried about him, that's all,' Louis protested. 'He'll be there on his own with Albus and that other boy, and they'll make his life miserable.'

'There could be others,' the Hat suggested.

'Like who?'

The Hat snorted. 'Like you, fool. I guess that rules Ravenclaw out.'

'Me?'

'Get with the program, kid,' the Hat's voice growled. 'You sit here, I tell you what House you're in. You're not sorted yet, so you could be a Slytherin. Now that I think about it, with your attitude, you're not a Hufflepuff...'

'But my family's always been in Gryffindor...'

The Hat harrumphed. 'And my family had always been a perfectly happy herd of Angus, but things change. SLYTHERIN!'

'Four out of four,' Neal whispered in Greg's ear as Louis Weasley stumbled towards the Slytherin table. 'You only had a week to brainwash them, as well. Whatever you said must have been good stuff...'

Greg shook his head. 'I don't believe it,' he muttered. 'Dan and Albus I can understand, but Louis... and Nathan...'

'At least it means you got some,' Neal retorted, 'it was looking a bit slim again this year otherwise. You don't seem to get the girls, do you?'

'What, me personally?' Greg ignored the jibe. 'I see you haven't got that problem,' he remarked as 'Yuan, Li', Rose's muggle-born partner, followed her buddy into Ravenclaw.

'That Hat will have some stories to share with you later, I dare say,' the two new Heads of House looked up sharply at the sound of their Headmaster's voice as he walked past their seats. 'My office, after the feast,' he added, turning his back as he approached the podium in the centre of the Hall. 'Welcome, welcome, one and all,' he beamed, echoing the Sorting Hat's opening line. 'Now, I know you're all eager to start the feast, so I'll keep things as brief as possible.'

'Let's start with the staff,' Longbottom took a breath. 'Tara Lyttle – Potions. Hermione Weasley – Charms, Head of Gryffindor, Deputy Headmistress. Greg Bennett – Transfiguration, Head of Slytherin. Neal Kennedy – Head of Ravenclaw.' He exhaled, showily. 'Other than that, the Forbidden Forest is still forbidden, and Weasley Products are still banned. Now, let's eat!'

'It's just as good as I remember, hey?' Greg smiled broadly as he dug into a thick steak. 'I don't know how I lived off my own cooking.'

'Explains why you've got less meat on you than that steak, anyway,' Wood grinned.

'That's only cause Theo makes me do his fitness regime, too,' Greg complained, through a mouthful of food. 'I thought we had to do a lot here, but the Wasps are slave-drivers...'

'Pro sport for you, Greg,' Wood shrugged. 'I've been there. Ten years at Puddlemere, don't forget.'

'How could I?' The other man grinned, 'I think you mentioned it once or twice when I was here...'

'Touché,' Wood smirked. 'Feel free to join in with some of the senior workouts, if you're around,' he offered, looking up and down the staff table. 'We might even be able to muster a team for the works league this year... borrowing the odd seventh-year...'

'Works league?' Greg's voice echoed.

'Wednesday nights,' Wood answered. 'One hour, fifty points for the snitch, but the game doesn't stop, it gets released again. The home team has to put on a spread of food afterwards.'

Greg grinned. 'Sounds perfect. Count me in.'

'Me too,' Neal added, 'you always need a seeker, right?'

'Sorry, mate,' Greg blinked. 'How many House Cups did you win as a seeker again?'

Wood laughed. 'Honestly,' he shook his head. 'You guys are as bad as the kids. You'll be spending more time in Nev's office than just chatting with the Hat if you're not careful.'

'What? _Greg_ in trouble?' Neal baulked. 'I don't think that ever happened in seven years, did it? Did you ever even get a detention?'

Greg rolled his eyes. 'Try my first week.'

'He's got you there,' Wood laughed again.

'That's alright,' the Head of Ravenclaw shrugged. 'It means he'll know how to deal with his little snakes when they spend their evenings cleaning cauldrons...'

The Gryffindor shook his head, a wide grin still covering his face. 'Where's the popcorn when you need it?'

A handful of yards away, on the end of the Slytherin table, there was much less humour as the four eleven-year-old boys eyed one another warily.

'How did you end up here, then?' Albus was the first to break the silence, glaring at his cousin over a side of ham.

Louis stared back, his eyes narrow. 'None of your business,' he spat. 'No surprise that you're here, though, is it?'

Albus snorted. 'What's that supposed to mean?'

'You know what I mean,' Louis shot back.

'Whatever,' Albus rolled his eyes, turning away to talk to Daniel. 'Sorry about him,' he made sure he spoke loudly enough for his cousin to overhear. 'I told you Veela had short tempers.'

'Maybe you should put them in a cage,' Daniel suggested. 'Do they bite?'

'I'm not sure,' Albus dug into a chicken leg, 'but I think they breathe fire.'

'Maybe that's what happened to his hair, then?' Daniel smirked, copying his friend in making a start on the feast. 'Maybe he set it on fire, and it's never gone out?'

Louis shuddered as the other boys' words hit him. He blinked once, twice, three times, steeling himself to ignore their taunts.

'What's a Veela?' Nathan asked, timidly.

'They're a magical creature...' Louis sighed. 'I guess you've heard of the Sirens? They're a bit like them. My great-grandma was one.'

'So...' Nathan stammered. 'You're not human?'

Louis swallowed. 'Well...'

'You're not, are you?' Nathan repeated, edging away from the other boy.

'I'm seven-eighths human!' Louis protested, desperately, as Nathan shook his head. 'What difference does that make, anyway?' He felt his eyes beginning to water, before burying his head away underneath his folded arms.

'Looks like your new boys are getting on well,' Neal whispered to Greg as the Headmaster got to his feet, pointing out Louis' slumped figure and Nathan's glum expression.

'First night,' Greg muttered, 'that's normal, right?' He winced. 'I take it we're meant to go down to our Houses now?'

'After you talk to the Hat,' Neville turned from the podium, having directed the school's prefects to lead their Houses to their respective dormitories. 'It might make all the difference.'

'I remember the last time we were in this office together,' Greg looked around the Headmaster's room. 'I think the Hat was involved as well, then, wasn't it?'

Neal nodded. 'Not quite so much life-and-death this time, though, mind.'

'I hope,' Greg smiled, wryly, following the Headmaster's instructions to take a seat.

'We all hope,' Neville added, warmly, as he settled behind his desk. 'Would you like to go first?' The Headmaster asked. 'Newcomer's privilege.'

'Sure, alright,' Greg didn't argue, reaching out to take the Sorting Hat as it was offered to him.

'Aha,' the familiar voice echoed inside Greg's mind. 'Mr Bennett,' it continued, 'a long time since I've had the pleasure. Welcome back to Hogwarts.'

The teacher grinned. 'It's good to be back,' he concurred. 'What can you tell me about my first-years, then?'

'All boys,' the hat answered him. 'Two muggle-born, the other two magical, to some extent...'

Greg groaned. 'What can you tell me that I don't already know? I think I understand why Al and Dan are in Slytherin, but Louis, and Nathan?'

'You think right,' the Hat concurred. 'Potter and Hamilton have the steel that characterises a true Slytherin. As for Weasley, well, he is a boy who knows what he wants. The first thing he did was tell me I'd put Llewellyn in the wrong House.'

'Well...' Greg began to argue. 'I never saw that coming with Nathan, I've got to say.'

'So where would you have placed him?' The Hat retorted. 'Not Gryffindor, I sense...'

Greg shifted on his seat. 'He doesn't seem the boldest type... but what about Ravenclaw?'

'A Ravenclaw values the pursuit of knowledge above all else,' the Hat replied. 'He is an intelligent boy, I grant you that, but it does not define him.'

'Slytherin, though?' Greg echoed.

'What about Slytherin?' The Hat wouldn't be distracted. 'What defines Slytherin?'

' _Slytherins Stick Together_ ,' Greg recalled the three words that had seen him and his friends through the trials of their first year.

'Exactly,' the Hat confirmed, before talking over Greg's effort to interrupt. 'He needs more than the soft loyalty of the Hufflepuff.'

A look of realisation crossed the teacher's face. 'Which is why you made Louis follow him...'

'Correct.'

Greg pulled the hat off his head, handing it back to the Headmaster. 'May I go down to the dungeon now, sir?'

'Certainly, Greg,' the older man smiled, 'and please do call me Neville.'

'Thank you, s... Neville,' Greg nodded, standing up to begin the familiar journey along the winding passageways that he knew would lead to the black marble corridors of the Slytherin dungeon. 'Newton Abbot,' he pronounced, holding his wand against the wall as its bricks faded into a doorway. 'Maybe I'll use Kingskerswell next...'

'Professor Bennett?' An older boy looked up, sharply, silencing the easy chatter of the common room.

'Sammy Kerrigan?' The teacher blinked, taking in the boy's thin face and short, thick black hair, and breaking into a smile. 'I remember you being this big...' He held out his hand at chest height. 'Now you're taller than me.'

Sammy smiled, thinly. 'My first year,' he recalled. 'When you guys let me help out at Quidditch practice because it was the only way you could get rid of me...'

Greg laughed. 'Our lucky mascot.'

'I don't think you needed luck,' the seventh-year shook his head. 'That team was incredible.'

The teacher grinned at the memory. 'That's cause four of us had been playing for seven years, and the others weren't far behind.'

'Wish we were half as good,' Sammy sighed. 'So, sir,' he swallowed, glancing around the room as the other students stared back at the conversation. 'What are you down here for?'

Greg hesitated. 'Do I need a reason?' He forced a smile onto his face. 'You guys are my House, right? I thought I should try and get to know you. I take it you never saw much of Slughorn?'

'No,' Sammy relaxed. 'Sorry...'

'Don't apologise, Sam,' the teacher smiled. 'I know you were only sticking up for the others. That's the captain's job, right?'

Sammy nodded.

'I'm glad it's in good hands,' Greg headed over towards the seventh-year. 'Do you mind if I join you?'

'Sure,' Sammy shuffled along his sofa, opening a space for the teacher. 'Quidditch team meeting, but I guess you can listen in. Do you remember the others in my year?'

'Let me think...' Greg looked around, scanning the faces of the teenagers across from him. 'Ollie Marsh,' a tall, blond boy smiled back, 'and Carl... Jenkins?'

'Jennings,' the boy corrected his teacher, brushing the fringe of his mousy hair across his forehead. 'Close.'

'Not bad for six years ago?' The teacher defended himself, jokingly. 'You'll have to introduce me to the others, though.'

Sammy nodded, pointing to the smallest of their group, a boy with floppy blond hair that reminded him of a younger version of his flatmate, Theo. 'This is Malachi Archimedes Xanthus Deverill...'

' _Max_ Deverill,' the blond snapped. 'Don't you ever fu...' He cut himself off suddenly, blushing bright red as he remembered the teacher's presence.

'Don't ever what, Max?' Greg asked, politely.

'Don't call me _that_ ,' the boy stared at his feet. 'Just call me Max. Please.'

'Sorry, mate,' Sammy apologised, shaking the boy gently on his shoulder. 'Max is our seeker. He's only a fourth-year, but he's brilliant. Then there's Marius,' the captain introduced a fifth-year boy. 'I reckon he'll have Zakis' place in the Latvian team when he retires,' he grinned, 'and finally the twins.' He nodded to a pair of girls, each with tanned skin and dark hair that was pulled into a bob. 'Laura and Ella Rosier. Don't mess with them if you value your life!'

'Looks like a good team to me, Sam,' the teacher concluded. 'Nice to meet you all,' he smiled. 'Let me know if there's anything I can do to help you. I'm going to go check on the first-years.'

'Thanks, sir,' Sammy nodded. 'They're downstairs in their dorm,' he noted. 'I hope you have better luck getting anything out of them than we did.'

Greg smiled, wryly. 'Thanks, Sam. See you around.' He stood up, leaving the Quidditch team to resume their meeting, and making his way down the ornate staircase that led to the Slytherin dormitories. 'Welcome home,' he murmured, reaching out to rest his hand on the handle of the first-years' room.

'Evening, boys,' Greg called out, pushing the door open, only to stop in his stride as he stumbled forward into the darkness of the room in front of him. 'Boys? Lumos,' he muttered, holding out his wand. 'Anyone up?'

'Professor Bennett?' A voice in the bed nearest to the doorway stirred.

'Louis?' The teacher blinked. 'Are you alright?' He asked, squatting down to bring himself to the boy's eye level, noticing the red rims of his eyes and working out the answer to his question before Louis could shake his head. 'Oh, mate...' Greg edged along the side of the boy's bed, before crouching beside the eleven-year-old. 'What happened?'

Louis sniffed, his eyes beginning to water as he struggled to answer.

'Come on,' Greg cajoled him, 'come outside. Let's have a chat.' He reached an arm out, helping the boy to his feet, and out into the corridor, where the teacher quickly conjured a chunky beanbag for the boy to collapse upon. 'Louis,' he offered, tamely. 'What's up...?'

'Everything,' he moped. 'Everyone hates me,' his head sunk under his arms.

'That's can't be true,' Greg reasoned.

'It is,' Louis shot back, without lifting his head. 'It is,' he repeated. 'Albus and me had a fight on the train,' the boy began to sob. 'They were being mean to Nathan. Then I said to Albus, I bet he'd end up in Slytherin, and one of the prefects told me off...'

Greg's eyes narrowed. 'Told you off for that?'

Louis, who had looked up briefly, dropped his head away again. 'I swore too,' he whispered. 'We didn't sit with each other on the train...'

'What about Nathan, though?' Greg ventured. 'You looked like you were getting on alright.'

'We were,' Louis mumbled. 'Then Albus told him I was part Veela.' He looked up again, his eyes burning red above pale cheeks. 'He hasn't talked to me since.'

Greg took a deep breath, digesting the boy's last statement. 'You're sure?'

'Of course I'm sure!' Louis snapped. 'You don't believe me either, do you?'

'I believe you, Louis,' Greg tried to reassure the boy, only for the eleven-year-old to shake the teacher's hand away.

'You're just saying that,' he sniffed. 'Why would you believe me?'

'Cause, Louis,' Greg swallowed, 'we're Slytherins, and that's what Slytherins do. _Slytherins Stick Together_. That's why you're in this House, that's why the Hat put you here, to help Nathan.'

Louis gulped, rubbing the back of his arm across his raw eyes. 'How did you know?'

'The Hat told me,' the teacher admitted. 'There aren't many boys who're strong enough to go up to the Sorting Hat and tell it off.' He paused. 'Does Nathan know any of this?'

Louis shook his head, blushing slightly.

'Well, I think it's time he did know.' Greg stood up, lighting his wand again, and pushed his way back into the first-years' dormitory. 'Nathan?' He cast the beam of light around, before bringing it to rest on the blond boy's head. 'Nathan,' he repeated the boy's name, crossing the room towards his bed. 'Get up,' he instructed, hissing in the eleven-year-old's ear. 'I need to talk to you.'

'What...' Nathan stammered.

'Outside,' Greg insisted, coldly. 'Now.'

'Yes, sir,' Nathan nodded feebly, stretching to his feet before stumbling out of bed.

'Take a seat,' the teacher directed, pulling the door closed and gesturing towards the beanbag at the side of the corridor. Sleepily, Nathan followed the instructions, oblivious to Louis' frosty stare. 'Tell me what you know about prejudice, Nathan,' Greg ordered.

'Um,' Nathan shivered, holding his arms across his bare chest. 'It's when you treat someone differently because of who they are.'

Louis' eyes narrowed. 'Like if they have a Veela great-grandparent.'

Greg sighed. 'Yes,' he admitted. 'I had been hoping to be a bit more subtle about it, but like that.' He watched Nathan's face drain of its colour, as the boy's mouth opened and closed helplessly, without a sound coming out. 'I understand that this place can be a bit of culture shock, Nathan,' the teacher continued, 'and that there are plenty of things that seem too strange to ever believe... and plenty of things that are frightening, too.'

Nathan blinked, nodding slowly.

'Some things are still the same, though, and I would have thought that if someone stands up for you, then they deserve rather better than a cold shoulder in return,' he swallowed. 'No matter who their great-grandmother was.'

'Yes, sir,' the blond boy murmured. 'Sorry, sir.'

'It's not me you should be apologising to, Nathan!' Greg's eyes flashed. 'It's not my evening you've ruined. It's not my trust you've thrown back at me!' He felt his breathing hurry and stood up, turning around. 'I can't make you guys be friends,' he sighed, pacing in a circle in the candlelight of the marble corridor.

'I know, sir,' Nathan coughed, 'but we wouldn't have met without you.'

Greg paused, thinking for a moment about correcting the boy's misunderstanding, but decided against it.

'You're right, too,' the boy breathed, 'and the others were as well. It's like I'm scared of everything,' he swallowed. 'I didn't know what a Veela was. I didn't know if it was safe or not. Not when Albus said he might breathe fire...'

Greg snorted, in spite of himself. 'Nathan,' he shook his head. 'Did you never think to ask him? Do you think Albus would dare say that if he really could breathe fire?'

Nathan blushed again, as Louis managed a thin, watery smile.

'I promise you I can't breathe fire,' the redhead explained. 'Or sprout wings, or grow an extra head, or see in the dark... or anything weird like that. All that happens is I have a kind of short temper,' he admitted.

'I'm sorry,' Nathan repeated his apology to the other eleven-year-old. 'I was just scared...'

'That's okay,' Louis held out a hand, 'but please just talk to me next time,' he implored. 'I don't bite. _Really_.'

Greg exhaled, deeply, as he watched the two first-years shake hands. ' _Slytherins Stick Together_ , boys. Don't you forget that. Now, Louis,' he decided to risk a gentle joke. 'Are you sure that your temper isn't just because you're ginger?'


	9. 1692

'The History of Magic,' Neal Kennedy announced the name of his subject as the last of his class of first-years took their seats in his classroom, a circular space that filled the topmost floor of one of the castle's towers. Its tall windows cast a panoramic view across the school's grounds and the lakes and mountains beyond, and the teacher sat on top of a desk on the opposite side of the room.

'I'm sorry if you were expecting a ghost,' he deadpanned, 'but I'm afraid you won't be able to catch up on your sleep in my lessons this year.' Neal waited, glancing around the nervous roomful of Slytherin and Ravenclaw children, half-expecting one of the eleven-year-olds to attempt a retort. 'Not that a Ravenclaw would do that, of course. Slytherin, on the other hand...' He smiled as the four green-robed children stared stonily back at him, and found himself wondering quite how hard it was safe to poke these particular serpents. 'So,' he clapped his hands, pushing himself to his feet. 'The History of Magic,' he echoed himself, 'why do we learn it?'

Rose Weasley's hand shot upwards, and Neal pointed in her direction. 'So we know what happened,' she pronounced.

The professor nodded, repeating the first-year's statement. 'In 1811, Grogan Stump passed the Classification Act, creating the Beast and Being Divisions of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures...' He exaggerated a yawn. 'Anyone interested in that?'

Rose raised her hand eagerly again, before self-consciously realising that she was in a minority of one.

Neal allowed himself a grin. 'Nope? Me neither.' His eyes sparkled. 'So, why do we learn History? Why do I want to teach you History?' Now he had the room's attention, he recognised, as he noticed the children's eyes widening. 'Anybody?'

A boy with dark hair that fell across his eyes, nearly obstructing his vision, offered a suggestion. 'So we can try to work out _why_ things happened?'

The teacher smiled. 'Well said, Mr... Corner?'

'Yes,' the eleven-year-old nodded, flicking his fringe away from his face. 'Alexander Corner.'

'Alright, then,' Neal continued with his lesson plan, 'what's the difference between what Mr Corner just told me, and what Miss Weasley said just moments before?' He paused. 'I'll give you a clue,' he hinted. 'It's a one-word answer... Yes?' He turned, noticing a hand on the opposite side of the classroom. 'Mr Weasley?'

Louis swallowed. 'Why.'

'Excellent,' Neal acknowledged, pausing again. 'Why, indeed? _Why_ did Grogan Stump think we needed the Classification Act in 1811? _Why_ do we have the Beast and Being Divisions? _Why_ did the Spirit Division only come along five years later?' The teacher began to pace around his classroom. 'The History of Wizardkind is littered with questions like these; questions that need more than a quick Revelio to find their answers.' He paused, leaning against one of the arched windows of the circular classroom. 'Well, guys,' he began to ask, 'how about it, then? What questions would you like answering?' He grinned as he noticed Rose Weasley's hand shoot up for a third time in as many minutes. 'Miss Weasley,' he nodded. 'I get the feeling this might be something of a theme.'

'Why did people ever follow Voldemort?' She asked, boldly. 'Everyone knows he was evil, so why didn't they stop him before he started?'

Neal smiled, wistfully. 'Hindsight is 20/20, Miss Weasley,' he replied. 'It's all very well talking about what we know now, sitting here in a safe, warm classroom in the year 2017, but when you look back at History, you must remember that much of the information that we rely on today only comes to light after the event. When was Voldemort born?' He paused, waiting for a response that never came. 'I'll answer that one for you – 1926. He committed his first murder in 1943. Then what happened in 1944?' Neal knew his question was rhetorical, but asked it anyway. 'He became Head Boy.' The teacher waited as a strangled gasp escaped a few of the children's mouths. 'History,' he repeated, pushing himself away from the window ledge and beginning to pace once again, 'isn't split into good and evil, but into a hundred shades of grey in between.'

Alexander Corner whispered something hurriedly into the ear of the boy sitting alongside him, before lifting his hand pensively into the air. 'What about when all the Death Eaters came out? Surely people knew they were evil?'

'When did the Death Eaters start to become conspicuous?' Neal was used to answering his students' enquiries with questions of his own, regardless of whether he expected his classes to know the answers. 'The First War, around about 1970. How long had Riddle been gathering his followers? Since his schooldays.'

'Thirty years,' Alexander muttered, and Neal nodded a confirmation.

'They did not tie their colours to the Death Eaters' mast until it was clear that Riddle was in the ascendancy,' the teacher explained. 'Once again, the stories that played out in private tell us so much more than the public knew at that moment. Politics was the name of the game, and for all his faults, Riddle was a master politician.'

The first-year boy nodded, solemnly. 'Then the Second War...' he began to think aloud. 'When the Death Eaters took over the Ministry – they would have been in control again.'

'Correct again, Mr Corner,' Neal acknowledged. 'Leaving the Order of the Phoenix and Dumbledore's Army – your father amongst them, I believe – to fight on as an underground resistance.'

'They would never have got that far if Fudge hadn't have ignored Dumbledore when he said Voldemort was back!' Rose interrupted the teacher, shrilly.

'Hand up if you wish to speak, Miss Weasley,' Neal reminded the girl, 'and _never_ is a dangerous word.' He paused. 'There is no such thing as certainty when there are more factors in play than any one person can consciously recognise. Yes, one can argue that more prompt action from the Ministry would have hindered the Second Rising, but you cannot claim that the Ministry would _never_ have fallen: we simply do not know.' The teacher clapped his hands together, retracing his steps to the front of the room. 'That, however, is a story for another time, and if we are to gain a proper understanding of all the forces at work there, we need to start much earlier on,' he paused for effect. 'In 1692, to be precise, with the signing of the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy.' Neal scanned the room, making sure that every other pair of eyes in the class was fixed on his own. 'This is where I need a little help from our muggle-borns. Miss Yuan, Mr Llewellyn, Mr Hamilton,' he name-checked the three children. 'What did you know of magic before you learned of our world?'

'Nothing,' Daniel answered, brusquely. 'Nothing, till Professor Bennett turned up and showed us it was real.'

'So you had never heard of wizards, or witches?' Neal challenged the boy with a question which he knew would only provoke him.

'No,' Daniel scowled. 'I never said that. I knew what a wizard was – just they were only in fairy stories, like the Lord of the Rings.'

'Only in stories?' Neal turned his attention to Li Yuan, the muggle-born girl that Hermione Weasley had assigned to her own daughter.

'Well,' she began, fiddling with the dark ponytail that fell over her left shoulder, 'there's people like witch doctors too, in Africa... but I don't know if they're real or not.'

'Shades of grey, Miss Yuan, shades of grey.'

'What do you mean, sir?' The first-year blinked.

'Sir?' Alexander Corner's hand edged upwards. 'Do you mean that some of them are going to be real wizards, and others muggles?'

The teacher nodded. 'Indeed I do, Mr Corner. Take five points to Ravenclaw. The witch doctor, or voodoo, cultures of indigenous tribes are still a mystery to a lot of historians, both wizarding and muggle. You have some wizards, who knowingly do just enough to hold their power over the tribe without betraying the Statute, and some muggles who know that they're frauds, yet do sufficient to convince the tribe of their reality. Further still, I believe there may be some wizards who do not even know they're wizards, undiscovered by incompetent or corrupt ministries, and living as part of the tribe. As usual, there is no simple answer.'

Alexander looked up from the sheet of parchment that he had covered with hurried notes, 'Thank you, sir,' he breathed.

'My pleasure.' Neal paced, slowly, across the room towards Nathan and Louis' desks. 'Mr Llewellyn,' he began, 'I haven't heard from you yet.'

'You won't,' Daniel interrupted.

'Thank you, Mr Hamilton,' Neal glared, coldly, at the boy. 'If I want your opinion, I will ask for it.' He turned back towards Nathan, his voice much gentler this time. 'Have you ever heard of witches or wizards in the muggle world?'

'Well...' Nathan whispered. 'There were witch trials, weren't there? Like at Salem in America?'

A broad smile crossed Neal's face. 'Five points to Slytherin. The Salem Witch Trials of 1692 were one of many cases of persecution in the early modern period, and arguably the final straw that led to the global ratification of the Statute of Secrecy that very same year. Indeed, you can go back further still and find evidence of a magical presence in muggle life. As far back as pre-Roman times, you can find druids wielding ancient magic as part of a culture that still persists today in pagan worship. The magical and muggle worlds are, and have always been, closer together than many people realise.'

'How come I never knew, then?' Daniel pushed. 'How come I always thought all of this was just stories?'

'Because,' Neal emphasised the word, 'our Ministry do an exceptional job of covering up the truth. History is written by the winners, Mr Hamilton, or by those with the most power – and we do a very good job of keeping our tracks covered. Even when the Statute is broken... such as when that damned Kelpie down the road sticks his head out of Loch Ness _again_... we have been able to convince the muggle world that they're seeing things.'

' _Why_ , though?' Rose asked, suddenly.

'Ah, Miss Weasley,' Neal smiled again. 'Now you are asking the right questions – but I believe we have already heard the answer. Mr Corner?' The teacher challenged the dark-haired boy, currently busy scribbling away on his parchment.

'Sir?' Alexander looked up, shaking his fringe out of his eyes.

' _Why_?' Neal picked a one-word question. 'Why do you think the Statute of Secrecy came into effect in 1692? Why do you think we covered up our existence from that point forwards?'

Alexander swallowed, looking back down to his parchment. 'Well, they weren't the only witch trials, were they? It must have had something to do with that – was it to protect witches?'

'A good effort, Mr Corner, a good effort,' Neal acknowledged, 'but no competent witch was ever in danger of being caught by the hysterical mob justice that prevailed in the seventeenth century: Apparition would have seen to that. Even if a witch was caught, the preferred method of punishment was burning at the stake – something which the most basic of flame-freezing charms would have rendered harmless. No, the seventeenth century was a time when religious extremism was on the rise, and more often than not, anything different was seen as something wrong, something to be eliminated. Those in the greatest danger from the spectre of the witch trials were innocent women on the wrong end of a grudge.' He paused. 'The muggle world was approaching a turbulent time, a time of extremism, conflict and repression, a time when wars would begin over the slightest disagreement. The wizarding community wanted no part of it all – to give the muggles one fewer reason to point their guns at each other.'

A small murmur edged across the classroom as Neal allowed the children time to take in his assertions.

'But, Professor,' Louis ventured. 'Couldn't the wizards have just defended themselves if they'd have been attacked?'

'Indeed they could, Mr Weasley,' Neal agreed, 'A reasonable idea, no?' The teacher waited for a handful of children to mutter their half-hearted agreement. 'A number of wizards have felt the same way through the years – that the statute of secrecy is an admission of weakness on the part of the magical community... and, by extension, that the muggle world must accept the superiority of magical blood. One such group began by calling themselves the Knights of Walpurgis.' The teacher paused, before opting to continue by asking another question. 'Can anyone tell me when they were founded? No? We've heard of them already today, although by another name.'

Alexander's eyes scanned his parchment furiously, before falling still as they picked out an untidy paragraph. 'Were they the Death Eaters?'

Neal nodded solemnly. 'Yes, Mr Corner. The Knights of Walpurgis became the Death Eaters.' He allowed the room to draw its collective breath. 'I think we can all agree that Louis' idea – of self-defence if attacked – is fundamentally sound. Yet it did not take that much of a stretch for this ideal to become warped by hatred and fear, into the Death Eaters' destructive philosophy. History as it happens is much more complicated than history as we see it today.'

'Maybe that's why you sorted into Slytherin?' Albus glanced along his House's long table as the lunch break began. 'You had the same ideas as the Death Eaters?'

Louis rolled his eyes. 'Oh, get lost, Al,' he shook his head, reaching for a slice of meat.

'I guess I better watch out that you don't breathe fire at me, now, cause I'm a muggle-born?' Daniel picked up on Albus' teasing. 'Are they any magic spells for putting fires out? You better look out too,' he gestured towards Nathan.

'Just ignore him,' Louis whispered to the blond boy. 'Remember what Professor Bennett said... _stick together_. I'm not like that, I promise.'

Nathan nodded, slowly. 'I know,' he whispered.

'Thank you,' the redheaded boy smiled in return, picking a roll of bread from a basket in front of him before slicing it open and stuffing his ham inside. 'Come on, Nathan,' he ventured. 'There's no point sitting here listening to them. 'Let's go.'

'Okay,' the other boy copied his friend, reaching for a bread roll of his own as he stood up to follow Louis out of the Great Hall and into the castle's grounds.

'Sorry about him,' Louis offered, as the two boys picked their way over the grassy bank that led down towards the Black Lake.

Nathan shrugged. 'It doesn't matter,' he murmured. 'I'm just going to ignore him.'

'Cool.' Louis smiled, watching his friend scramble across a stack of water-polished boulders by the lakeside. 'Have you got any cousins?'

The blond boy shook his head. 'I've only got one Auntie, and she hasn't got any children. Dad hasn't got any brothers or sisters,' he paused, sighing. 'Like me.'

'Well, you can have some of mine!' Louis picked up a pebble from beside his feet, flinging it low into the water in front of him. 'I've got hundreds!'

Nathan managed a thin smile of his own. 'Charlie had lots of cousins,' he mused. 'Enough to make a whole cricket team, he said.'

'We play Quidditch together sometimes,' Louis recalled his own family gatherings. 'Well, the older ones do. I usually end up watching.'

'I don't know much about Quidditch,' Nathan admitted. 'I mean, I know I saw those brooms in the Quidditch shop that we went to... and those jerseys too... but I don't know the rules.'

'Shall we go see the pitch?' Louis suggested, his expression immediately brightening. 'I can try and explain some of the rules.'

'Sure,' Nathan agreed, quickly, and his friend eagerly led the way towards the banks of terracing that surrounded the Hogwarts Quidditch Pitch. 'Cool...' he breathed, blinking as he took in the height of the stands. 'How come it's that big?' He asked, naively. 'There aren't that many people here, are there?'

'Sometimes families come to watch, too,' Louis offered an answer, 'and scouts from the professional teams...' He headed for the low, wide archway that funnelled any visitors into the stadium, and grinned as he watched the other boy stare, open-mouthed, at his new surroundings.

'All the seats are up there...' Nathan gaped, stating the obvious. 'It's not like a muggle stadium, where the seats come right down to the ground...'

'Muggle sports get played on the ground, though, don't they?' Louis pointed out. 'Quidditch doesn't.'

Nathan blushed. 'Oh, yeah,' he grinned, sheepishly. 'I knew that.'

The redhead laughed, before his attention was distracted away from his friend.

'Hey there,' a deeper voice interrupted the two first-years, who instinctively drew closer together as the stranger approached. 'You guys alright?'

'Yes,' Louis answered for the pair, regarding the new arrival with suspicion. 'Just looking.'

The older boy drew closer, before a dawn of recognition spread across his face. 'Oh,' he smiled, 'you guys are two of our new first-years, aren't you?' He patted the badge on the chest of his robes with pride. 'Weasley...?'

' _Louis_ ,' the first-year insisted, his features still stern. 'I'm not just another Weasley.'

'Fair enough,' the newcomer held his hands up. 'Sorry, Louis,' he emphasised the boy's name to make his point. 'And...'

'Nathan,' the blond boy whispered. 'Llewellyn.'

The older boy nodded. 'Should have remembered that,' he chastised, before introducing himself to the eleven-year-olds. 'Sammy Kerrigan. Quidditch Captain... and I think I'm taking you guys for your Transfiguration study lessons, too.'

'Oh,' Louis visibly relaxed. 'Hi.'

Nathan echoed his friend's quiet greeting.

'Are you lads Quidditch players, then?' Sammy tried to extend the conversation, despite the first-years' stilted, one-word answers.

'Sort of,' Louis mumbled his answer, whilst Nathan shook his head apologetically.

'I'm muggle-born,' he explained, staring down at his feet. 'I've never been on a broom.'

Sammy smiled. 'Time to learn, then, hey? Lots of muggle-borns played Quidditch here – some people say that it's an advantage to have played other muggle sports before starting Quidditch.'

'I played cricket,' Nathan admitted. 'I was in the A's at school.'

'Well, that's a start, isn't it?' The seventh-year tried to raise the boy's spirits. 'You have to hit a ball in cricket, right? Maybe you'll make a beater?'

Nathan shook his head, glumly. 'I couldn't bat very well,' he sighed. 'I was keeper.'

'Then that's better still!' Sammy beamed. 'We have a keeper in Quidditch, too!'

The first-year shrugged. 'I bet it's not the same.'

'You're hard work, aren't you, hey?' The seventh-year laughed at the younger boy's defensive expression. 'Why are you talking yourself out of it before you've even had a go?' Sammy grinned again as he watched Nathan swallow, in search of a reply that never came. 'Max is going to be down here in a few minutes for some seeker practice, so how about you two chuck a quaffle around for a bit? We'll have the balls out, anyway.'

Nathan looked nervously across to his friend, who eventually answered for the pair of eleven-year-olds. 'Alright,' Louis nodded. 'Might as well.'

'Good enough for me,' Sammy conceded. 'Back in a moment; just getting the box.' He held his wand against a low doorway that had been set into the side of the archway, ducking his head into what the younger boys assumed was a storeroom beyond, before emerging moments later with a wooden box under one arm and two ramshackle brooms under the other. 'They're not much, guys,' he apologised, 'but they'll do you, hey?'

'But...' Nathan stammered, 'I told you, I've never been on one before...'

The older boy dismissed his Housemate's complaint. 'Well,' he concluded, 'better to learn it now where there's no one to laugh at you. Go on,' he smiled, turning to greet Max Deverill as the seeker arrived. 'Get on with it!'

'Come on, mate,' Louis held an arm around his friend's shoulders, feeling the other boy shivering as he did so. 'It's alright, I promise.'

Nathan blinked, nodding mutely as the other first year casually stood astride one of the school brooms.

'You've just got to say _up_ ,' Louis instructed, allowing his ride to snap into his hands, before kicking off into a slow spin and hovering back to the ground.

'I c... can't...'

'Sure you can,' the redhead persisted. 'Just try, Nathan, please...'

Nathan shook his head, the rims of his eyes beginning to redden as he did so. 'I can't,' he repeated, stumbling onto the ground and hiding his head under his arms.

'Nathan,' Louis begged, 'we've got a flying lesson soon. You _can't_ do this then. Imagine what they'll say to you...'

'That I'm a coward,' Nathan didn't look up, 'and I don't belong in Slytherin,' he gasped for breath, 'and they're right!' His voice rose to a shrill shriek. 'I should be in the leftover House.'

' _No_ ,' Louis insisted, even as part of him began to wonder if the other first-year's self-doubt might not be based in truth. 'Please just try!' His appeal grew more desperate. 'Or at least, just sit on the broom, and give us some practice quaffles to catch...'

Nathan rubbed the back of his right arm over his eyes. 'Alright,' he whispered. 'I can do that.'

'Cool,' Louis kicked off again, tossing the quaffle to his friend. 'Try and get used to catching it in one hand,' he suggested, 'keep the other one on your broom.' The redhead watched the ball loop gently back into his hands. 'Come on,' he grinned, 'harder!'

The boys' game continued for several minutes, as Nathan made Louis' life progressively more difficult, whilst the redhead's return throws edged further and further from Nathan's stationary broom. The blond boy found himself reaching ever higher as he chased each one of his friend's returns, before realising – with a startled yelp – that he too had taken off from the ground below.

'Shit,' he stammered, dropping the quaffle and desperately clasping at the broom with both hands as he tumbled back to the floor.

'You alright?' Louis dropped down to dismount his own broom.

'I... I was f... flying...'

'Yeah,' the redhead acknowledged, dismissively. 'You have been for about five minutes,' he grinned. 'I just didn't want to tell you, cause I knew you'd just panic and fuck it up, just like that.'

Nathan blushed.

'It doesn't matter, though, does it?' Louis insisted, clapping his friend on the back. 'You know you can do it now, don't you... so long as you don't think about it too much. That's what my cousin Teddy said, when he taught me how to fly... don't think about doing it – _just do it_.'


	10. Lesson Plans

Sammy Kerrigan knocked cautiously on the wooden door that separated the dungeon corridor from his new Head of House's quarters. 'Sir?' He asked. 'Professor Bennett?'

'It's open,' the teacher's voice called back. 'Come in, Sam.'

'You wanted to see me?' The seventh-year asked, pushing the door open.

'Yep,' Greg nodded. 'That's right. ' He forced a smile as the Quidditch captain closed the door behind him. 'How are you, mate?'

Sammy grunted. 'Alright,' he swallowed. 'Is something wrong?'

'Nope,' the teacher grinned. 'Is that the only reason I'd want to talk to you?' He challenged the boy. 'What have we both got coming up that we need to think about?'

'Oh,' the boy winced as he realised the man's aim. 'Transfiguration.'

'Correct,' Greg grinned, sitting down in an aging armchair and gesturing to the seventh-year to do likewise. 'What made you sign up for it, then? Haven't you got enough else on this year?'

'No more than you did when you were here,' Sammy avoided the question.

The teacher smiled again. 'I remember... but that's not what I asked you, mate, was it? Why did you sign up for the study lessons?'

Sammy shrugged. 'I guess I enjoyed some of the Quidditch coaching I did last year,' he searched for an explanation, 'and I still remember my first year, when some of the study lessons were really good.'

'Just some of them?' Greg teased, and the teenager shifted uncomfortably on his seat before Greg broke the tension with a laugh. 'I know some of mine weren't!' He stood up, reaching for a crate of butterbeer and offering the boy a bottle. 'That sounds good, though. Have you planned your first lesson yet?'

Sammy shook his head. 'Not yet.'

'When is it?'

'Tomorrow afternoon.'

Greg raised an eyebrow. 'When were you thinking of doing it, then?'

The seventh-year blushed, snatching for his drink and downing a large mouthful to cover his embarrassment.

'It's alright, mate,' the teacher smiled. 'I've got them first thing and I haven't figured out exactly what I'm going to do yet,' he admitted. 'Do you want to sit in there, see what we manage, and take it from there?'

Sammy nodded, gratefully. 'Thanks, sir,' he offered.

'No worries,' Greg acknowledged the teenager. 'Shall we work out where to begin, then? It was a lot easier with you lot... I can remember my NEWTs much better than my first year.'

'We started with match to needle,' Sammy recalled. 'Everyone does, I think.'

Greg nodded. 'Yeah. Boring... but it's the easiest one, isn't it?' He began to think out loud. 'It's not like I can turn into a cat to catch everyone's attention, either.'

'So how are you going to start?'

'That's just it,' the teacher shrugged, 'I didn't just ask you here to check on _your_ lesson, Sam. Mine's not ready either.'

'How about pretending to duel?' Sammy drained another long mouthful of butterbeer. 'We could transfigure different things around the room and use them to pretend to fight with each other.'

'That'll get their attention,' Greg nodded approvingly. 'Let's make sure we throw to miss, though, right?'

'What, and hit the kids instead?' Sammy laughed as the teacher exaggerated a look of thoughtfulness.

'I guess it'll make them remember it, won't it? Let's have one of them cop a water balloon,' a grin spread across the man's face. 'Who do you think will take it best?'

Sammy grimaced. 'Not Nathan,' he asserted, instantly. 'Maybe Louis. He's pretty tough.'

Greg's thoughts skipped back an evening, recalling the way he had found the redheaded boy crying himself to sleep. 'Do you think?'

'Yeah,' the teenager insisted. 'You should have seen him on a broom at lunchtime, pretty much forcing Nathan to get on with it.'

The teacher smiled. 'Alright then,' he nodded. 'We'll go with Louis. Just don't miss!'

Sammy laughed.

'What next, then?' Greg pressed. 'What about McGonagall's Golden Rules? Shall we keep them?'

The seventh-year finished his bottle of butterbeer. 'What were they, again?'

'Don't tell me you can't remember?' The teacher shook his head. 'Maybe we should have a fresh start, then. What are the most important things they need to get a transfiguration right?'

'Focus,' Sammy suggested, 'understanding...'

Greg nodded his agreement. 'Concentration,' he added, before a smirk crossed his lips. 'Hang on,' he shook his head. 'We can't use that.'

Sammy's eyes narrowed. 'Why not?'

The teacher laughed. 'Look at the first letters, mate,' he grinned. 'Focus, Understanding, Concentration...'

'Oh,' the boy gulped.

'Shame,' Greg's eyes sparkled. 'Knowledge would have rounded it off nicely.'

Sammy couldn't stop himself from laughing as he replied. 'No one would forget it, at least.'

'More than my job's worth to try that on in the first week, though, I reckon.' The teacher smiled. 'Let's see if we can come up with a better one... or at least one that won't get me fired.'

The two wizards spent the next few minutes thinking out loud, criticising, rejecting and improving each other's ideas in turn before Greg called out in triumph. 'I've got it!' He declared. 'PIES!'

'Pies?' Sammy blinked, disbelievingly. 'Pies?'

'Yes,' the teacher repeated. 'Pies. Preparation, Incantation, Expectation, Separation. Pies.'

Sammy shook his head. 'That's awful. Probably the worst one yet.'

'I know,' Greg grinned, 'and that's why it'll work.'

'What do you think we'll do today?' Nathan whispered to his only friend as the two Slytherins tagged onto the end of a queue of boys outside the Transfiguration classroom.

'Not sure,' Louis shrugged his shoulders. 'It's only our first lesson, and Professor Bennett's still new…' His answer was cut off, however, by the arrival of the Ravenclaw girls.

'Ugh,' a tall blonde, whom Louis immediately felt might have been attractive if not for the sneer stretched across her lips, scowled at the boys. 'As if it wasn't bad enough being taught by a Slytherin, we have to share another lesson with them, too…'

Daniel snapped around as he heard the girl's words. 'Have you got a problem with us?' He challenged.

The girl snorted. 'How crude,' she sniffed, turning away. 'Don't you agree, Rose?'

Louis sunk back instinctively, pressing himself tight against the wall as he watched his two cousins stare one another down, all malevolent glares across the narrow stone corridor.

'Are you proud of yourself, then?' Rose taunted. 'Proud of everything your Dad fought for?'

'Shut up,' Albus snapped back. 'You don't know what you're talking about.'

'Have you even told your Dad? Cause you know James owled him as soon as you got sorted into that… that…'

'I said shut up!' Albus reddened. 'It's none of your business!'

Rose blinked. 'You haven't told him, have you?' She persisted.

'I told you, it's nothing to do with you!' The boy bit his lip as he felt his fists clenching. 'Anyway, how's your Dad taking it that you're not in Gryffindor?' He smirked. 'Not so much fun _now_ , is it?'

'Good morning!' Greg Bennett's shout silenced the corridor, halting the cousins' argument before it could grow any more spiteful. 'Good morning,' the teacher repeated, allowing himself a grin as the gathered students mumbled an echoed reply. 'Welcome to Transfiguration,' he gestured towards the empty classroom. 'Now, boys, please could you sit with someone from the opposite House,' he talked over an audible groan. 'You'll be here with them for seven years,' Greg reasoned, 'so you might as well get used to each other.'

The teacher shook his head as he watched the line of children trudge into his classroom, the boys sinking sullenly beside unfamiliar partners. 'I hope it's not one of those mornings,' Greg's eyes sparkled as the children stared robotically back at him. 'Oh, give me something to work with… Now,' he clapped his hands, beginning to stroll down the centre of the room. 'Transfiguration. Transfiguration is a Science; a subject that demands precision and concentration, and above all… Hold on.' The teacher's eyes darted across the classroom, before settling on the doorway as it rattled on its hinges. 'Can you hear that?'

A handful of the children's heads jerked around at the unexpected noise but Greg continued speaking. 'Hello?' He ventured, before ducking for cover as a hooded figure burst the door open into a rising cacophony of fearful screams. 'Who are you?' The teacher challenged him. 'What do you want?'

The intruder didn't reply, instead reaching for an umbrella that stood inside the door, and projecting it as a javelin towards Greg, only for a flick of the teacher's wand to transform it into a bunch of flowers that crumpled harmlessly against his chest.

'Who are you?' Greg repeated, picking up a paperweight and hurling it at the other figure before watching it turn innocuously into a bath sponge and bounce off the intruder's shoulder. 'Look out!' He yelled, prompting half of his class to take cover beneath their desks as another missile, this time in the form of a heavy textbook, sailed above the children's heads. The professor's wandwork vanished it into thin air, before another flash of the wrist was required to conjure a makeshift shield that he held in front of another identical projectile seconds later.

'Louis!' The teacher yelled, shaping to spin his shield like a frisbee towards the intruder as the hooded figure stepped around behind one of the few eleven-year-olds who had not yet scrambled for safety. 'Duck!'

Louis' eyes widened as the disc cut through the air above his head, before the boy threw himself against the top of his desk. He never saw the missile transform into a water balloon, or the explosion above his head that drenched him in the process.

'And… Cut!' A wide grin spread across the teacher's face as Sammy Kerrigan pulled down his hood, revealing an equally amused expression. 'Transfiguration,' the man intoned, 'is a powerful tool.' He took a deep breath. 'You can get out from under your tables now.'

'That… that was an act?' Daniel was the first of the children to recover his poise.

Greg nodded. 'We thought we'd let you see what Transfiguration can actually do.' He turned to the seventh-year with whom he'd pretended to duel. 'This is Sammy Kerrigan, by the way. He'll be taking your study lessons.'

Daniel grinned. 'Awesome…'

'Well, then,' the teacher glanced toward Louis, the boy's eyes still wide as realisation of what had happened fully sunk in. 'I suppose we should start of by getting you dried off.' He flicked his wand, sending a wave of warmth washing over the still-speechless boy. 'Okay, mate?' Greg asked. 'I've made a right mess of your hair…'

'It's alright,' Louis mumbled, conscious of the gazes of his classmates. 'I'm fine.' He brushed his fringe away from his eyebrows.

'So,' Greg continued. 'Transfiguration has four main parts, and we've seen three of them already today. Can anyone tell me what they are?'

Alexander Corner, the Ravenclaw boy sitting with Louis, raised his hand. 'Vanishing.'

The teacher smiled. 'Quite right.' He turned his attention to the other side of the room, where Rose Weasley was almost lifting herself off her chair in her eagerness to answer. 'Miss Weasley?'

'Conjuring, and Switching.'

'Right again,' the man acknowledged. 'That's three out of four… which means there's one left. Anyone? No?' He strode across the classroom, collecting the sponge that had deflected off Sammy's shoulders earlier in the lesson. 'I quite liked this when it was a paperweight.' The teacher replaced it on his desk, before snapping his wrist as he aimed his wand towards it. 'Now, can anyone tell me the fourth branch? Mr Stretton?'

A boy with short, tawny brown hair offered an answer from the seat beside Albus. 'Reverse Transfiguration?'

'Close enough,' Greg grinned. 'We call it Untransfiguration – but you're dead right in that it's all about reversing a previous change. Now, as for how we do it, well, it's all about one word.' He made deliberate eye contact with Sammy, who shook his head theatrically. 'That word is PIES.'

'Did you think up that Pies thing?' Louis questioned Sammy as the seventh-year leaned over the younger boy's table later that morning.

'Oh, come on…' Sammy groaned. 'Surely you think more of me than that, hey?'

Louis grinned.

'All Professor Bennett's idea,' the older boy insisted. 'I came up with another one, but, well…' he tailed off. 'I'll tell you later. How's your spell going?'

The boy shook his head. 'Badly.'

'Mine too,' Alexander Corner echoed. 'You made it look so easy…'

Sammy smiled. 'That's cause I've been doing it six years,' he reasoned. 'Not six minutes. Keep at it.' The seventh-year stood up, leaving Louis and Alexander to sit silently beside one another, muttering their attempted spells. 'Getting there, hey?' He crouched down beside Nathan. 'Maybe speak a bit more clearly?'

The blond boy nodded. 'I'll try,' he whispered. 'Acus Evoco...' He sighed. 'It's no good.'

'It'll take time,' Sammy reminded him. 'No one gets this on their first try. 'Remember, think clearly about what it is now, and what you want to change it into.' The seventeen-year-old turned to the Ravenclaw at Nathan's side. 'You too,' he pushed. 'See, you're getting a little bit of a point at that end. Malfoy, isn't it?'

'Yes,' the boy, a similar height to Nathan but whiter of hair and paler of skin, uttered an even quieter reply than his partner had managed just moments before.

'This is the noisy table, hey?' Sammy smiled, heading across the room to stand beside the professor. 'How long did it take you, first time?'

'Couple of weeks,' Greg answered, his eyes darting around the room at the abortive spells and frustrated expressions of his class. 'I remember Theo just turned his into sawdust…'

The seventh-year laughed. 'Same here,' he recalled. 'Guess I might have been quicker if I hadn't have been hanging round the Quidditch team all day instead of practising.'

'Priorities,' Greg smiled at the memory, before pacing across to inspect the efforts of Daniel and his Ravenclaw partner, Felix Ashworth. 'How are you getting on?'

'Nothing's happening,' Daniel explained, bluntly. 'The match sometimes jumps about a bit, but that's it. Nothing else.'

Greg nodded. 'That's because you're not focussing your spell enough,' he summarised. 'Remember, you have to think about each part of the needle, and what you want it to turn into… expectation and separation.'

'This is the _easiest_ one, right?' Daniel retorted, sceptically.

'Oh, yeah,' Greg acknowledged, 'but it's also the hardest for a lot of people, because they've never anything they've done before.'

Daniel blinked. 'What?'

'I think I get it.' Felix, short and with jet-black hair, looked up as he spoke for the first time. 'When we try the others, we'll already know what it feels like to make this work. It's like learning to fly your broom and then learning how to do a trick on it.'

The teacher beamed. 'I can tell why you're in Ravenclaw, Mr Ashworth. Take a couple of points whilst you're at it.' He rested a palm on the first-year's shoulder. 'It took me a good week or two before I got this one cracked. To tell you the truth, I'd be surprised if anyone…'

'I GOT IT!' A shrill scream from the opposite side of the classroom both interrupted and disproved the teacher's prediction in the same breath. 'I did it,' the voice repeated, calmly enough for the class to realise it belonged to Rose Weasley, before a shout from the table in front of Felix and Daniel further disrupted the lesson.

'I did it too,' Albus announced, 'and you got your matchstick before me, so that means…'

'Did not, Albus!' Rose jerked upright, staring across the room at her cousin. 'I did it first, and you know it!'

'Only because you had longer than me!' The boy snapped back, clearly in no mood to accept the Ravenclaw's assertion. 'If I'd've got my matchstick first, then I'd've done it first!'

'Mr Potter,' Greg raised his voice for the first time, quieting the room. 'Miss Weasley. That will be enough. May I take a look at your work?'

'Yes, sir.' Albus complied, holding out his effort to the teacher, who then made the short walk across the room to do likewise, before holding up the two needles high against the room's lantern-light to pass his judgment. The verdict came with a nod. 'Impressive,' he concluded as the school bell rang out. 'Take five points, each.'

'I _so_ did that before you,' Rose Weasley turned on her cousin as soon as the first-years escaped the teacher's earshot.

'Yeah, and I told you why!' Albus reddened. 'So stop going on about it!

'You've changed, Albus Potter,' Rose lowered her voice menacingly. 'Since you became a Slytherin, you've changed.'

Albus stopped in his tracks. 'I've changed?' He gasped. ' _I've_ changed? What have _I_ done?'

'Yeah,' Daniel blundered in on Albus' side. 'You're just jealous because you're not the best at Transfiguring!'

Now it was Rose's turn to blush. 'That's not true!' She spluttered. 'I'm not, I'm not…'

'Oh, sure,' Daniel rolled his eyes. 'Not jealous at all. Is that like you're not ginger, too?'

Albus laughed at his friend's sniping as he watched Rose turn an even deeper shade of red.

'Rosie…' Louis tried to intervene, but his cousin didn't even let him utter a second word.

'You're just as bad as him!' The girl snapped, bearing down on Louis as the boy backed away into a corner. 'You betrayed everyone in the family, too! Dominique's right about you!' Rose seethed through a film of tears. 'You're just an attention-seeking little bastard who can't stand it if you don't get everything your own way. Maybe Slytherin's the right place for you, after all!' She jerked out a wand, holding it tight against Louis' neck as the boy's breathing hurried and his face paled. 'Never… call… me… Rosie… again,' she hissed, before turning her back on her cousins as she made her thunderous way back to Ravenclaw Tower. In her wake, Albus and Daniel cast one glance at each other, and left Louis to collapse onto the cold stone of a seat that was cut into the corridor wall.


	11. Eagle Eyes

Louis had no idea how long it was until the sound of his own name stirred him, and although he ignored it at first, the insistent – if hesitant – sound was enough to rouse him from his stupor.

'Alexander?' He blinked, as the sharp features of the Ravenclaw boy swam into his vision. 'Oh no…'

'Louis?' The black-haired boy repeated. 'What's happened?'

'I didn't do anything…' Louis muttered defensively, letting his fringe fall over his eyes once again. 'I swear…'

Alexander Corner snatched a glance back over his left shoulder towards the tawny hair of Toby Stretton, another first-year Ravenclaw. 'So,' he swallowed, 'what's wrong, then?'

'You know,' Louis didn't look up. 'You must know,' he stuttered. 'Rose must have said…'

'Rose?' Alexander swallowed. 'What? Sorry,' he stuttered, 'I don't get it…'

Louis sniffed, lifting his head up and blinking again as he shook his hair from his face. 'Didn't Rose tell you? Isn't that why you came back?'

'No,' Alexander answered. 'Toby forgot his quill…'

'So…' Louis stuttered, 'then you didn't hear what happened? You didn't hear what she said?'

The Ravenclaw shook his head.

'So you're not… you're not…' Louis checked himself. 'Sorry.'

'What did she say to you?' The black-haired boy pressed. 'I suppose it wasn't good.'

Louis laughed, emptily. 'You could say that.'

'She doesn't seem that pleased that you and Albus ended up in Slytherin.'

'You said you didn't know what happened!' Louis spluttered.

'I don't…' Alexander took a step backwards. 'That's just what she's like in the Tower…'

Toby nodded. 'She won't shut up about it,' he backed his friend. 'Her and Miranda,'

Louis sighed. 'She said I was an attention-seeking little bastard who'd betrayed our family.'

'Oh,' Alexander could manage nothing more than a single word.

'Yeah.' Louis attempted an ironic smile. 'All because of what some old Hat said.'

'Kennedy said it shouldn't matter what house you're in,' the Ravenclaw persisted.

'Do you think that's true?' Louis fixed a piercing stare on the other boys. 'Do you think it doesn't matter what House someone's in?'

Alexander took a breath. 'It shouldn't,' he murmured, before breaking off eye contact with the Slytherin boy. 'It shouldn't.'

'But it does, though, doesn't it?' Louis felt his voice rising beyond his control. 'It still matters to everyone that I sorted into Slytherin!'

'It's not everyone,' Toby interrupted.

Louis snorted. 'It is, pretty much.'

'That's not the same thing,' Toby swallowed. 'Kennedy doesn't care what House you're in. Neither does Bennett.'

'Rose does.'

'So?' The brown-haired boy held the Slytherin's stare. 'Why does that matter? You know she's wrong. I know she's wrong. Xander knows she's wrong.'

Now it was Louis' gaze that faltered. 'Because… I… I…' He brushed the back of his right hand over his face. 'Cause she's family… shit…' He swore as he felt his eyes begin to water again. 'Sorry.'

Toby glanced nervously at his best friend, silently willing Alexander to break the awkward quiet.

'Look, Louis,' the taller of the two Ravenclaws ventured. 'Like Toby says, _we_ all know that it doesn't matter what House you're in, and anyone who says different is just plain wrong. Even if they are family.' He paused, sensing it was time to change the subject. 'Hey, we were going to head to the library and try to start on that essay Kennedy asked us to do. Do you want to come?'

Louis rubbed his eyes once again. 'Yes, please,' he smiled. 'I guess the Hat still works out who the proper Ravenclaws are.'

Alexander returned the other boy's smile. 'And there's nothing wrong with that!'

It was with a smile on his face, and a full scroll of parchment clutched in his left hand that Louis returned to the Slytherin dungeon just before lunchtime, almost bumping into Sammy Kerrigan as he opened the concealed doorway.

'Hey, Louis,' the seventh-year recognised him. 'You coming down the Quidditch pitch again today?'

The eleven-year-old stumbled, caught unaware for a moment. 'Um, maybe,' he stalled. 'Let me see if Nathan wants to come, too.'

'Alright, mate,' Sammy grinned. 'See you around.' He slapped the first-year playfully on the back as the doorway closed behind him, leaving Louis' eyes to adjust to the lantern-light of the Slytherin common room.

'Nathan?' He asked aimlessly, glancing around at a scattering of older students who paid him no more attention than they would do a passing insect, before making his way to the staircase that wound down towards the dormitories. 'Nathan?' Louis repeated his friend's name as he pushed open the dormitory door. 'You alright, mate?'

The blond boy stirred on his bed, pushing away a copy of _Hogwarts: A History_. 'Yeah,' he shrugged, 'I was just reading this.'

'Oh,' Louis acknowledged. 'Cool. Have you started your essay for History yet?'

Nathan nodded, rolling over to pull a sheet of parchment from beneath another pair of textbooks on top of a cabinet beside his bed. 'I did it this morning…' He took a breath, holding the essay out towards his friend. 'Does it make sense?'

Louis took the parchment. 'Why are you asking me?' He protested. 'I've never been any good at writing.'

'You've been a wizard all your life,' Nathan's voice dropped to a whisper. 'You know what's normal and what isn't.'

'Oh,' Louis repeated, 'yeah. That.' He scanned through the essay, nodding once or twice, before handing it back to his friend. 'It makes sense to me.'

Nathan smiled. 'Thanks.'

'Hey,' the red-haired boy changed the subject. 'Sammy just asked me if we were going down the Quidditch pitch again this lunchtime. Do you want to come?'

'Are you going to make me fly again?'

Louis' eyes sparkled. 'I reckon you'll get bored if you just stand there and watch.'

'We'll see,' the blond boy laughed. 'We'll see.'

'Cool,' Louis grinned. 'In a few days, I bet I won't be able to stop you. Let's get something to eat first and then get down there.'

The two first-years arrived at the Quidditch pitch shortly afterwards, meeting their House captain beneath the archway as they had done the previous day.

'Hi, guys,' Sammy greeted them, casually. 'Have you seen Max around?'

'Max?' Louis blinked, shaking his head. 'Sorry.'

Sammy sighed. 'He was meant to be here fifteen minutes ago.' The seventh-year shrugged. 'I guess there's nothing you can do about it, though.'

'Do you always start training this early?' Louis asked, glancing over his shoulder to check for any sign of the Slytherin seeker.

'Not always,' Sammy replied. 'Just…' he shook his head. 'Max wanted some extra practice. Still,' he continued, 'he's not here, and you guys are. You don't fancy helping us with some chaser practice, instead, do you?'

'Yes!' Louis replied in an instant, before turning to gaze imploringly at his friend. 'Come on, Nathan…'

The blond boy smiled, nervously. 'I'll try,' he offered, 'but you know I'm not very good.'

'That doesn't matter,' Sammy patted the boy on the shoulder. 'Everyone's got to start somewhere. I've got the kit out already,' he indicated a stack of brooms laid up against a wooden trunk. 'I just need you guys to throw quaffles at me to start off with, whilst I fly round these markers.' The seventh-year cast his wand towards the pile of equipment, sending a set of poles darting across the pitch, into the ground and upwards to hover in the sky. 'Nathan, you don't even need to get on a broom. Can you stand there, and just give me some low catches when I come round that pole? Louis, can you fly over there to that red marker, and throw some when I get to the top of it?'

'Thanks,' the older boy signalled a thumbs-up to Louis a few minutes later having completed a few circuits of his improvised course. 'Do you fancy a quick go?'

Louis couldn't say yes quickly enough, and Sammy laughed aloud at the first year's shameless enthusiasm. 'Alright, mate,' he smiled. 'You know what you're doing?'

'Same as you, right?' Louis nodded.

'Right,' Sammy agreed. 'Let me get up by the red cone,' he instructed, 'now just keep it slow first time out…' The seventh-year lowered his voice, speaking in an undertone to Nathan. 'No chance, is there? Watch him stack it on that blue corner.'

A couple of minutes later, Sammy's prediction had proved correct, as Louis sent himself tumbling from the broom and skidding across the dry grass as he tried to twist back through a narrow gate at a speed that was far too fast to safely negotiate the corner.

'Told you!' Sammy called out to Nathan, as the blond first-year ran across to check on his friend.

'Ouch,' the other boy picked himself up gingerly from the turf. 'Shit,' he rubbed his left elbow, where the skin had broken.

' _Everyone_ stacks it on that corner the first time they try it,' Sammy landed beside the two first-years. 'It gets tighter than you think it's going to be, and then you discover that you've got to go up as well… and you just end up on your arse.'

'Or your elbow,' Louis observed.

Sammy grinned. 'I was hoping you could tell them two apart,' he laughed as the first-year shoved him away. 'Hang on,' his attention wavered. 'Here's Max.'

'What are you doing?' The fourth-year demanded. 'I thought we were doing seeking?'

'I thought we were meeting at half one,' Sammy gritted his teeth, 'but seeing as you're here, let's get on with it. I'll leave this up for you two,' he nodded to the first-years before leading his team-mate away.

'Do you want a go?' Louis looked to his friend.

Nathan shook his head. 'No,' he reddened, before qualifying his answer. 'Maybe later. You have another go. Just be careful with that blue corner.'

Safe in the knowledge that they couldn't be late for their next period whilst the taker of their study lesson was occupied by a golden snitch, Louis and Nathan kept themselves occupied with Sammy's obstacle course for the rest of their lunchbreak. Louis' accident at the now-infamous blue corner hadn't deterred him from tackling the bend at as high a speed as he could dare, and it hadn't surprised his friend to see the redhead tumbling to the ground on more than one occasion. For his part, Nathan had worked up the courage to complete two faltering laps of the circuit, almost coming to a halt as he rounded the blue corner both times.

'Sorry I had to cut you short a bit there, guys,' the seventh-year explained as the three students headed back to the castle. 'Can't take any chances of being late for my first lesson! Enjoy yourselves?'

'Yes!' Louis answered eagerly, and Nathan managed a quiet nod of agreement. 'I love it, even that blue corner!'

Sammy laughed. 'How many times did you end up stacking it there?'

Louis blushed. 'Three.'

'Standard,' the seventh-year grinned. 'There's a skill to it, which comes in bloody handy when you're trying to avoid some big oaf with a beater's bat.'

The first-years laughed.

'How about you, Nathan?'

'He got round twice without crashing,' Louis answered for his friend.

'Only really slowly…' the blond boy played down his achievements, 'and I nearly stopped at the blue bit.'

'Nathan, that's fantastic,' Sammy slowed down to ruffle the younger boy's hair. 'Yesterday was the first day you even got on a broom, and you're already doing my circuit. That's awesome.'

'Thank you.' Nathan blushed, and Louis grinned, throwing his arm around his friend's shoulders as the trio turned the corner into the corridor which held Sammy's classroom.

'People here _already_ ,' the seventh-year exclaimed, setting his eyes on the blue-tinged robes of two boys. 'You guys are a bit keen, hey?'

The two Ravenclaws turned around, looking back at Sammy as the older boy approached, before glancing nervously at each other, daring one another to speak first. They were saved the peril of a reply, however, when Louis recognised their faces and remembered their kindness earlier that morning.

'This is Toby Stretton and Alexander Corner,' he introduced the two boys. 'They're Ravenclaws, but they get it,' he explained, 'they're not bothered that we're in Slytherin.' Louis smiled.

'That's good to hear, hey?' Sammy grinned, holding his arm out and briskly shaking hands with the two first-years, both of whom were still too shell-shocked to do anything but nod feebly in response. 'Come on, then,' the seventeen-year-old continued, 'no point standing around outside. Might as well come in and wait for the others in here.'

The seventh-year pushed open a classroom door, leaving the four younger boys to filter in behind him, and settle onto a table near the front of the room.

'It's alright if we sit with you, right?' Louis prompted the Ravenclaws, before pausing as he watched Toby and Alexander share another tense glance. 'Right?' Louis repeated, his voice suddenly wavering.

'I don't mind,' Toby, the shorter of the two boys, answered weakly. 'It's just…' he swallowed as his friend hid his head behind folded arms.

'He does?' Louis' voice rose in surprise, only for Toby to cut him off quickly.

'No,' the Ravenclaw shook his head, his eyes darting anxiously around the classroom. 'It's the others,' he sighed. 'When we got back to the tower at lunchtime… people had seen us in the library… with you.' His explanation came as a broken sentence.

'What?' Sammy dropped the stack of parchment he had been carrying and spun around with a start.

'Me and Xander went to the library with Louis this morning,' he expanded.

'And the rest of your House are picking on you because of that?' The seventh-year checked, before pulling out his wand with an angry flourish. 'Colloportus!' Sammy yelled, brandishing it towards the classroom door. 'Muffliato!' He let the wand fall, before lashing out, kicking at the legs of an empty desk. 'For fuck's sake! When are people going to bloody grow up?'

The silence that followed the older boy's angry exclamation was only broken by the sound of a quiet sob from beneath Alexander's folded arms.

'He's not mad at you…' Louis tried to reassure the other boy. 'You've done nothing wrong,' he swallowed, 'and I don't know what I'd have done if you hadn't helped me this morning. You as well,' he looked at Toby, noticing that the other Ravenclaw's eyes had reddened even as he managed a half-smile.

'Thank you,' he mustered.

'That's okay,' the redhead returned the other boy's tentative grin. 'I'm sorry the others are having a go at you.'

'It's going to happen again, though, isn't it?' Sammy concluded, sharply. 'If they sit with you.'

The Ravenclaw nodded.

'So,' Louis swallowed, his expression suddenly cold. 'Are you going to move?'

Toby's eyes began to water. 'I don't want to…' he struggled, 'but, but…' he glanced over his shoulder towards the classroom door.

'It's locked,' Sammy observed, 'and muffled. Nobody can hear what you say.'

The eleven-year-old grimaced. 'They… they called us snake charmers. Miranda Skeeter…' He shook his head. 'Sorry… just…' Toby sniffed, hard, as his words scrambled into nonsense.

'It's like my old school,' Nathan spoke for the first time, 'after it happened. No one would talk to me because of what the others would say.'

Louis put a hand on his friend's shoulder. 'I don't care what the others say. You said it yourself this morning, Toby… it shouldn't matter what House somebody's in. Let's see if you really believe it.'

Toby flinched. 'I want to,' he echoed his own stuttering words from moments before. 'It's just…'

'It's just a lot harder to actually do something in real life than it is to talk about it, right?' Sammy guessed at the first-year's fears. 'Actions speak louder than words, hey?'

Alexander Corner lifted his head up, rubbing his forearm across his face as he did so. 'Like Dad during the war,' his face hardened. 'I'm not moving.'

A thin smile spread across the seventh-year's lips. 'Well said, kid,' he uttered. 'Five points to Ravenclaw. Just hope your Housemates don't cost you them again.' Sammy strode across to the classroom door. 'Alohomora.'

None of the boys were the surprised in the least to see Miranda fix Toby and Alexander with a malevolent glare as she strutted into the classroom. 'Snake charmers,' she hissed, under her breath, as she passed their table.

'Told you,' Toby whispered sadly.

Louis shook his head. 'Ignore her,' he shook his head. 'Stupid bitch.' He looked over his shoulder, tracking his cousin as she settled down into a seat beside the tall blonde. 'She's no better…'

Sammy clapped his hands, grasping the attention of the class as Albus and Daniel hurried through the closing door. 'Alright, then,' he summarised. 'First thing this morning. Your first Transfiguration lesson. What did you learn?'

Louis lifted his hand. 'Pies,' he ventured, struggling to keep a straight face. 'Preparation, Incantation, Expectation and Separation.'

'Correct,' the seventh-year smiled, over a derisive snort from the Ravenclaw girls. 'Five points to Slytherin. The secret to any good Transfiguration is a clear mind, and Acus Evoco – or match to needle – is no exception. Do we have any volunteers to demonstrate?'

Rose's hand shot skywards before Sammy had even finished his question.

'Miss Weasley,' Sammy acknowledged the girl's enthusiasm. 'Anybody else?'

Daniel nudged Albus on the elbow. 'You can't just let her stand there and take all the glory, mate,' he insisted. 'Show her you're better than she is.'

The other Slytherin nodded. 'Alright, then.' He raised his hand, waiting for the older boy to invite him to challenge his cousin before following Sammy's instructions to head up to the front of the classroom.

'Acus Evoco,' the seventh-year repeated the incantation, placing a matchstick in the centre of his own desk before transforming it into a needle with one flourish of his wand. 'For me, the most important thing is to visualise the head of the match becoming the eye of the needle. Albus, Rose,' he nodded to each of the first-years in turn. 'Over to you.'

'Acus Evoco.'

'Acus Evoco!'

'Acus _Evoco!_ GOT IT!' Albus picked up his needle exultantly, holding it inches from his cousin's face. 'Ha!'

'Albus,' Sammy cautioned, 'let me inspect it first, please,' he took it from the boy, peering closely through the metal before returning it to the eleven-year-old. 'Well done,' he confirmed, 'although you would be well served to remember that grace in victory goes a long way. You can sit back down now.' Sammy gestured towards a stack of matchboxes, distributing them across the classroom with a flick of the wrist. 'This should be more than enough to be going on with for today,' he explained. 'Let's see how you get on – and if you do master it, let's see how much control you can manage over the size and shape of your needles. Go!'

'I _really_ don't like this,' Alexander Corner complained aloud as his seventh match of the afternoon dissolved into sawdust on the boys' increasingly messy table.

Louis grunted his agreement, watching his own attempt perform a backflip rather than changing form.

'At least yours hasn't caught fire yet,' Nathan groaned, drawing a laugh from the other boys.

'Good thing Xander knew Aguamenti,' Toby observed, caustically. 'Anyway, I don't know what you're all complaining about. This isn't that hard if you concentrate properly.' He took a deep breath, pointing his wand at Louis' displaced match. 'Acus Evoco,' he intoned. 'See?'

Louis rolled his eyes as the matchstick shifted in front of him. 'Show-off,' he muttered.

The Ravenclaw grinned as his housemate shook his head in exasperation.

'I _am_ concentrating,' he complained. 'I always concentrate, in every lesson!'

'Well, then,' Sammy interrupted. 'Maybe you're concentrating too hard?'

Alexander blinked. 'What?' He stammered, repeating the older boy's words. 'Concentrating too hard?'

'Yep,' Sammy nodded. 'If you just think about the eye of the needle or the head of the match, you're not going to get anywhere. You've got to think of everything, all together, all at once…' The bell rang out before the seventh-year could add any more. 'See you next week,' he announced, rising to his feet, 'and well done.'

'Still think you're better than me?' Albus challenged his cousin as she followed him out of the classroom, shoving past him rather than rising to his taunt. 'No? Me neither!' He shouted after her, before Daniel joined in with the teasing.

'Did you even get it to change once? The boy called. 'Or was it just a fluke that you got it this morning?'

'Maybe you don't belong in Ravenclaw.' Albus pushed things even further. 'What's your Mum going to think when you don't get an Outstanding? What about when you get a "T"?'

That was enough. Rose whirled around, furious. 'I didn't know why you were in Slytherin at first, Albus, but I know now!' Her voice edged upwards.

'So what?' Albus snapped back. 'What's wrong with Slytherin?' He drew a breath. 'And don't just tell me that it's all evil. Did you know that Merlin was a Slytherin? He's the most famous wizard of all time!'

'So was Voldemort!' Rose argued back, irrationally. 'He's the most evil wizard of all time!'

Daniel feigned a yawn. 'I guess that just means that when Slytherins do something, they do it properly.'

'You couldn't do the match either…' Rose turned her attention to the other boy.

Daniel shrugged. 'I didn't get up in front of the whole class and say I could, though, did I? I'm not the one who looked stupid in front of everyone because it turned out you weren't as clever as you thought you were.'

'Who asked what you thought?' Miranda Skeeter waded into the argument on Rose's side.

'Same person who asked you,' the muggle-born boy shot back. 'So keep that ugly nose of yours out of it!'

'Cause you're so good-looking, aren't you?' she sneered, before turning attention to a new target as Daniel ignored her barbs. 'I bet the snake charmers like you, though.' Miranda emphasised her nickname for Toby and Alexander as the two boys exited the classroom, their Slytherin friends in tow.

'Fuck off,' Louis wasn't prepared to let her insults go unchallenged. 'At least come up with something new!'

A sickly smile spread across the blonde girl's face. 'I just want to know what on earth they see in a dirty little Slytherin like you.'

'I don't know,' Albus replied, deadpan. 'Maybe they want to see if Veelas make good pets?'

'He's a _Veela_?' Miranda's voice scarcely concealed her glee. 'A real life Veela?'

'Oh, yeah,' Daniel smirked, 'I don't know if he's house-trained yet, though…'

'You can fuck off, too.' Louis turned on his housemate. 'You don't know anything about it.'

'I know you're not fucking human, that's what I know,' Daniel refused to back down, 'but you're right, I don't know anything about you, like whether it's safe to have you in a school, or anything.'

'In fact, no one knows anything about male Veelas at all, do they?' Rose eagerly shifted the focus onto her cousin. 'Maybe you should be in a laboratory, not in a classroom?'

'Or a zoo?' Albus added. 'Look how red he gets when he gets angry! He's even redder than his face! Look at his nose!

'Veela Boy!' Daniel started a chant that quickly grew louder as several other voices joined in. 'Veela Boy! Veela Boy! Veela, Veela, Veela Boy!'

'Fuck off!' Louis protested, his eyes burning, but it made little difference as the voices grew louder, closing in around him and refusing to let go until the eleven-year-old collapsed into a distraught ball, before scattering as the sound of approaching footsteps drove them away.

'Louis…?' Nathan ventured, tapping his friend on the shoulder as the boy's tormentors scarpered. 'Louis?' He repeated. 'Come on, let's go.'

'Where?' Toby Stretton's face was pale.

'Anywhere,' Alexander answered the other Ravenclaw. 'Anywhere they're not going to be.'

Louis sniffed. 'I can't…' he wept, 'I just can't.'

'Why not?' His housemate pressed. 'We can't stay here.'

Another heavy sob wracked the boy's body, before he slowly lifted his head to face the other children.

Nathan was the first to scream.


	12. Slytherins Stick Together

Greg looked up from his fireside armchair as he heard a knock against his office door. 'Come in,' he called, absently. 'It's open.' He held his gaze across the room as a boy pushed his way in. 'Ah,' he noted. 'Albus.'

The eleven-year-old edged across the room as the teacher indicated another chair.

'Take a seat,' Greg instructed. 'Now, when I finish talking, I'm just going to listen. I'm not going to interrupt. I want you to tell me everything that happened after Transfiguration this afternoon.'

Albus stared blankly back at the man.

'Albus?' Greg prompted. 'Well?'

The boy shrugged, and his teacher sighed.

'I'm disappointed,' the man stood up, taking a couple of steps across the room towards a cluttered kitchen worktop. 'I'm disappointed that you can't tell me the truth.' He waited for a reply that never came, and turned back around to face his student. 'I have a very good idea of what happened this afternoon already, Albus, and it's not a story that paints you in a very good light. I could have jumped to conclusions, but I thought I ought to let you have your own say first up. I thought that the fact that your housemate – your cousin – was in the hospital wing might have been enough to make you think about some of the ways you've behaved this last week, but apparently it isn't.' Greg maintained his gaze, even as Albus' head dropped, breaking his eye contact. 'I guess this is the part that McGonagall warned me about – when a good first impression turns out to be wrong.'

The teacher poured himself a glass of water, before retracing his steps to the hearth. 'I remember the first time we met, Albus, sat on the grass at Cutteslowe Park in Oxford, when I told you about Slytherins sticking together. What made you change your mind?'

Albus blinked, staring determinedly at the ground in front of his feet. 'I didn't mean to,' he mumbled.

'You didn't mean to?' Greg echoed. 'You didn't mean to do what, Al?' He shortened the boy's name, softening his tone of voice. 'I'll repeat what I said when you came in. It's over to you: just tell me what happened after that Transfiguration lesson, and I'll just listen.'

'Okay,' Albus nodded. 'Could I have some water first?' He swallowed. 'Please?'

'Of course you can, mate,' Greg stood up, returning to his kitchenette to pour the eleven-year-old a drink before settling back into his armchair. 'Whenever you're ready.'

Albus swallowed a long mouthful of water before beginning. 'I called him a Veela,' the boy admitted, glancing up at the teacher.

Greg stared impassively back, remembering another piece of advice McGonagall had given him. 'They'll crack before you do. They don't know you're bluffing just as much as they are.'

Albus' head dropped again, and the teacher allowed himself a wry smile.

'I said he should be in a zoo,' the eleven-year-old added, his voice dropping as he spoke. 'Then Daniel started a chant… we all joined in, saying "Veela Boy, Veela Boy"… but we heard someone coming and everyone ran off.'

Greg nodded, imperceptible to the first-year, before settling back in his armchair and refocusing his gaze without another word.

Albus looked up. 'Sir?'

'Albus?'

'Um, I'm… um…' He stammered.

'I didn't ask what _you_ did,' the teacher clarified. 'I asked for what happened. From the point where you left Sammy's classroom.'

The boy's face fell again, and he reached for the glass of water, thirstily downing its contents before staring down at the laces of his shoes.

'Aguamenti,' Greg mouthed, watching the glass fill up again at his demand and subconsciously repeating McGonagall's advice as Albus fidgeted nervously on the seat opposite him.

'Me and Rose were arguing,' he began, pausing before realising that the teacher was not about to interrupt, 'about who was better at Transfiguration, because we both had to demonstrate Acus Evoco in the classroom and she couldn't do it.' Albus took a breath. 'Then I said she was going to get a "T", and then she got really pissed off with me, and started saying that now she knew why I belonged in Slytherin… and I said Slytherin wasn't all bad, cause Merlin was a Slytherin… then Daniel and one of Rose's friends got involved…' He blinked, daring to look upwards, and realised that the professor had refilled his drink. 'Thank you, sir.'

'That's alright, Al,' Greg acknowledged.

The first-year took another deep breath. 'Then Rose's friend – I don't know her name – said something about snake charmers, and… and then Louis told her to… to f…'

'To fuck off?' Greg guessed at the source of the boy's discomfort, and Albus nodded. 'Say it if you need to say it, Al,' the teacher reassured him.

'He told her _that_ ,' the eleven-year-old winced, 'then I said he was a Veela. Daniel said he wasn't safe to be in a school, Rose said he should be in a laboratory instead, I said he should be in a zoo, and that's when we started chanting.' The boy's voice began to strain. 'He told us to fuck off again, but it didn't stop us. We kept on chanting until we heard someone coming and then we all ran off…' Albus tailed off, looking pleadingly across to the teacher for a sign that his story had been accepted.

'Thank you, Albus,' Greg nodded. 'Now,' he spoke slowly and clearly, 'if you were me, what would you be thinking right now?'

The boy shrugged. 'I don't know,' he mumbled. 'Cross?'

The teacher smiled, sadly. 'A little, perhaps,' he admitted, and the boy reddened at his confirmation, 'but more than anything, I'm disappointed.'

Albus shifted uncomfortably on his seat.

'I'm new to this job, Al, you know that,' Greg mused, 'and after that first day I met you, I thought I'd figured you out… I thought you were someone I wanted in Slytherin.' He paused, watching the boy struggle to hold eye contact. 'Now, I'm not so sure.' Albus' head jerked downwards. 'I don't know if I was wrong about you… or if I've done something wrong since you boys started…' He took a deep breath. 'I just can't work out why you'd treat Louis like that. Do you know what's happened to him?'

Albus looked up, his eyes beginning to water, and shook his head.

'Part of his face has shifted… transfigured into part-Veela form. Madam Pomfrey has never seen anything like it before. She doesn't know how long it will be set like this… It doesn't seem like Louis has got any control over it.'

Albus shuddered, involuntarily. 'Oh, Merlin…' he whispered, rubbing the back of his hand across his face. 'He will be alright, won't he?'

'I hope so, Al,' Greg answered the boy's question. 'I hope so. That's all I can say right now, though.'

Now the eleven-year-old's composure broke. He slumped back on the old armchair, hiding his head beneath his hands as a series of sobs began to overwhelm his body. 'I didn't mean it… I didn't mean it… I swear I didn't…' His words tumbled over one another. 'I swear it,' he repeated, as Greg got gently to his feet, padding across to crouch beside Albus.

'Al,' the teacher offered, placing a hand on the boy's shoulder, 'we all make mistakes. That's what experience is – a long list of screw-ups – and when we screw up, there's always a way we can make up for it. I remember my first year… the first time I got detention… when Professor Slughorn talked about how we often have to choose between what is right and what is easy.'

Albus nodded, slowly lifting his head and wiping the back of his hand across his eyes once more. 'Sorry,' he swallowed.

'That's alright, Albus,' the teacher accepted the apology without hesitation, 'but I don't think I'm the only one who needs to hear that.'

Wednesday morning's lessons sent the first-year Slytherins to Charms, alongside Hufflepuff, and Potions with the Gryffindors. Louis had not returned to class yet, and all of Albus' attempts to talk to Nathan had met with a stony silence – rebuffed, as he had been when he had asked to visit his cousin in the hospital wing. His only comfort had been the fact that the timetable had kept him away from Rose and her fellow Ravenclaws, but as the first-years headed to the Quidditch pitch for the final class period of the afternoon, even that was to change.

'Where's your little Veela friend?' Miranda Skeeter called out to Nathan as soon as she set eyes on the blond boy. 'Have they finally sent him to the zoo where he belongs?'

Albus shuddered as he heard the girl's taunts, remembering acutely that he too had been dishing them out the previous day. 'Just ignore her, Nathan,' he tried to support his housemate as the two Slytherins lined up alongside a neatly arranged row of broomsticks.

'Yeah, I can do that myself, thanks!' The blond boy snapped. 'In case you've forgotten, you're the one who told her Louis was a Veela!'

Albus' head dropped. 'I know, and I…'

'Piss off,' Nathan crudely interrupted the other boy's weak apology. 'You're as bad as her.'

Albus fell silent at his housemate's riposte, but there would have been no chance for him to reply even if he had wanted to, as Oliver Wood began his well-worn introduction to flying.

The basics of getting into the air, however, were not something that any of the three Slytherins needed to hear, as – in their own individual ways – they had all already mastered the art of becoming airborne. Wood's time needed to be devoted to Li Yuan, the other muggle-born first-year, who had never so much as sat on a broomstick before the lesson began.

'Go on then, where is he?' Miranda pressed Nathan, hovering outside the professor's earshot. 'You must know, you're his only friend.'

Nathan felt his eyes start to burn, and they reddened further as the girl continued her teasing.

'Hang on,' she sneered, 'isn't he _your_ only friend, too? Who've you been hanging around with today? Have you even talked to anyone all day?'

Nathan couldn't stand it any longer. 'Fuck off,' he retorted, 'it's none of your business!'

'Oooh,' Miranda crooned, 'a naughty word! That's not very nice, is it?'

'So what?' Toby Stretton gathered the courage to speak up in Nathan's defence. 'You deserve it.'

'No one cares what you think!' The girl spun around sharply on her broomstick, staring down her housemate. 'Stupid little snake charmer.' She held her glare in the silence that followed. 'See; no one gives a shit.'

Daniel could not let this pass unchallenged. 'Since when have you been in charge?' He flew casually towards Miranda.

'I'm only telling the truth,' she simpered. 'Can't have him thinking anyone's interested in what he's got to say.'

Daniel snorted. 'And you think I care about what _you_ say?' He rolled his eyes. 'Why?'

Miranda's voice grew darker. 'Do you even know who my mother is?'

'No,' Daniel retorted, 'and you know what? I don't care, either!'

'It doesn't matter, does it?' Albus gathered the nerve to interrupt. 'And anyway, if we're doing that, I think I've got the most famous Dad out of anyone.'

Daniel stared back at his friend, perplexed by the other Slytherin's claim, but Miranda gave him no time to dwell on the surprise.

'Well,' she changed the subject abruptly, 'let's see who the best flier is. Round that tree and back again.' Miranda pointed into the middle distance, where a lone pine protruded above its neighbours.

'But that's the Forbidden Forest…' Albus began to protest.

Miranda sniffed, haughtily. 'So what? Nobody's going _in_.' She spun on her broom, aiming towards the distant target. 'Well? Anyone?'

'Come on, then,' Daniel didn't back down, copying the angle of the girl's broom.

'Go!' Miranda shouted, taking advantage of the moment's surprise to pull out a lead before the boy could respond, slotting into her slipstream and biding his time as the other first-years watched, open-mouthed.

Daniel gritted his teeth, focusing fiercely on the girl's back as he held his position behind the girl, feeling the rush of the wind against his face and instinctively hunching ever lower against his own broom as they neared their target of the not-so-distant pine. Miranda adjusted her line, sitting up a fraction and pulling wider to give herself a gentler route around the corner. Daniel saw the narrow gap open up between his rival and the branches of the tree and, unthinkingly, went for it.

'He can't be…' Albus gasped, breaking the silence amongst the watching first-years. 'Not on the school brooms… it'll never stick…'

Nathan nodded his agreement. 'Like the blue corner,' he mumbled, in spite of the knowledge that Louis would have been the only one to understand his reference to Sammy's practice course.

Back on the broomstick, however, no such thoughts had filled Daniel's head: at least, not until he heard the wooden beam begin to creak, warping under the stress of the corner and catching against the outer branches of the giant tree. 'Shiiiiiit…'

'Where's Daniel?' Albus blinked as Miranda rounded the pine tree, with the boy nowhere to be seen. 'Oh Merlin… He's fallen off… Nathan!' The eleven-year-old called out, aghast, as he watched his other housemate set off towards the forest. 'You can't… We should get Professor Wood… I… I…' he shivered, his broom slowly circling to the ground. 'Shit…'

Nathan blanked out Miranda's crowing return as he flew past the Ravenclaw girl, his mind fixed completely on the pine tree where Daniel had fallen, with Professor Bennett's insistent demand, _Slytherins Stick Together_ , echoing in his ears. 'Daniel?' He called, hovering nervously by the treetop and peering into the darkness of the canopy below. 'Daniel?'

A muffled yelp echoed from the forest floor, and Nathan swore to himself as he strained to hear the other boy's pleas, steeling himself to duck into the depths of the trees. 'Slytherins stick together,' he reminded himself, drawing a deep breath and dropping down into the unknown. 'Daniel?' He repeated, blinking as his eyes struggled to adjust to the half-light. 'Daniel?'

'Help…' The pained shout came back, clearer than before, directing Nathan down towards his housemate. 'Please…'

'I'm coming,' Nathan called out a reply, all the while privately wondering what he could do even if he did find the other boy, and wondering fearfully just what he might find within the depths of the forest. It was only seconds before a blast of heat and light told him.

Daniel had managed to shin several feet up the gnarled branch of a broad tree, around which were gathered a circle of creatures unlike anything either of the boys had ever seen before. Squat and ungainly, they scuttled beneath thick, jewel-encrusted shells, taking turns to shoot jets of flame at the base of Daniel's tree, which was beginning to flicker and smoke beneath the panicked boy, who only clung on with his left hand as his right arm fell limply across his chest.

'Do something!' Daniel implored. 'Help!'

'What?' Nathan shuddered. 'I can't fly there, they'll set me on fire!'

'Well, can't you get rid of them?' The other boy pleaded frantically. 'Don't you know any spells?'

Nathan racked his brain, struggling to recall anything that might prove useful, when his thoughts turned to the previous afternoon's Transfiguration lesson, and the way that Alexander had extinguished his burning match. 'Aguamenti!' He shouted, only to watch a pitiful trickle of water leak from his wand.

'Is that it?' Daniel baulked. 'That was shit!'

'I know,' Nathan muttered, 'I'm trying, honest I am…' He shut his eyes, willing himself to remember the Ravenclaw boy's wandwork, drawing a deep breath before flourishing his own willow wand, and yelling with all of the conviction that he could muster. 'Aguamenti!'

For a moment, nothing happened, until – with a sudden crack that sounded like a thunderbolt – a vast torrent of water streamed from Nathan's wand, the force of the recoil knocking the blond boy backwards. The flood doused the flames of the creatures, washing them back into the forest and drenching Daniel as he held desperately onto the sodden bark with his good arm.

'Wow…' Daniel stammered, gingerly edging his way down the tree trunk. 'That was awesome…'

Nathan nodded, uncomfortably. 'I don't know how I did it,' he muttered. 'It was like that time in the wand shop…' He shook himself. 'Come on,' he implored, picking up his broom from the forest floor behind him. 'Let's get out of here before they come back. Can you get on this with me?'

Daniel shrugged. 'I'll try.' He swung a leg over the broomstick, wincing as his right arm caught against Nathan's back.

'Is your arm alright?'

Daniel thought about lying for a moment, before shaking his head sadly.

'Try and wrap it up under your t-shirt,' Nathan suggested, 'fold it over your elbow,' he showed his housemate. 'They showed us this at school; it's easier than trying to do a sling…'

'Thanks,' Daniel mumbled, taking a firm grip on the broom with his left hand and shutting his eyes, blocking out the pain, as Nathan began to pilot his way slowly upwards, edging towards the thin shards of sunlight visible in the canopy above. The first face the boys saw as they emerged back into the open air was that of Oliver Wood.

'Mr Llewellyn,' he greeted Nathan, his voice stern. 'Mr Hamilton. Exploring, I see?'

Nathan glanced over his shoulder, towards Daniel, who shook his head.

'I fell off, sir…' he began. 'I…'

The teacher waved away his explanation as his eyes fell on the first-year's strapped arm. 'I've heard the story, Mr Hamilton,' he supplied, bluntly. 'Now, I take it you might need the services of Madam Pomfrey?

When Daniel next opened his eyes, in the hospital wing later that evening, he found that he couldn't remember anything else after leaving the forest. 'Al…?' He blinked, as the shape of his housemate swam into focus beside his bed. 'What… what happened…?'

'It's alright, mate,' the other boy calmed his friend. 'You've just had a sleeping draught,' he explained, 'to help your arm heal.'

Gingerly, Daniel clenched his right fist, before slowly moving his arm beneath his sheets. 'It's still sore,' he admitted, 'but better. Much better.' He pushed himself up, shifting his pillows around as he felt the cold of the steel headboard against his back. 'Where's Nathan?'

Albus' answer was quiet. 'With Louis,' he nodded towards a screen at the far side of the room. 'Over there.'

Daniel winced again. 'Shit,' he muttered. 'We've fucked this up, haven't we?'

'Just a bit,' Albus sighed. 'Just a bit.'

'Ah,' the curtains that surrounded Louis' hospital bed ruffled, and a man emerged.

'Professor Bennett…' Daniel stammered.

'Dan,' the teacher returned the eleven-year-old's simple greeting. 'Alright?'

The boy blushed, certain that the teacher had overheard his bad language. 'I think so,' he mumbled. 'I…'

'You're right,' Greg cut Daniel off, 'you have messed things up, but – like I told Al yesterday – every time you mess up there's always a way to make up for it.'

Daniel nodded. 'Is… is Louis alright?'

The teacher shrugged. 'I think you should probably go and see for yourself.'

Slowly, the first-year got to his feet, brushing the duvet off his shoulders and edging across the room, following the teacher to the other side of the curtain, where Nathan sat on a basic metal chair beside a bed which held a face that Daniel barely recognised.

'Louis?' He breathed, gaping at the dark, wide eyes and sharp, tapered nose.

'Yes,' the red-haired boy answered, emptily. 'What do you think?' His voice was heavy with sarcasm. 'Do you like the beak? It's much smaller than it was last night. I can actually eat now.'

Daniel shook his head. 'I… I…' He turned away, hiding his eyes behind his fringe as his forehead dropped against his forearm that rested on Albus' shoulder.

'Veela boy, right?' Louis noted, acidly.

'Don't remind me,' Albus begged, 'please. I'm sorry,' he swallowed. 'We're sorry.'

'That's easy for you to say,' the redhead shrugged. 'You don't look like this.'

Albus shivered. 'I know,' he whispered. 'I didn't want this to happen,' he took a deep breath, fighting against the prickle of moisture at the backs of his eyes. 'I'm sorry… really… I'm not just saying it...'

'Well done, Al,' Greg intervened. 'It takes a lot of guts to admit you were wrong.'

'I'm sorry, too,' Daniel put in, wiping the back of his arm across his forehead. 'When I said you weren't brave, Nathan, that wasn't true,' he swallowed. 'Why did you come in after me?'

Nathan reddened. 'I don't know,' he mumbled. 'I guess, what Professor Bennett said… about Slytherin sticking together.'

'Thank you,' the brown-haired boy smiled, weakly. 'I've never been so scared,' he admitted. 'What were those things?'

'Hagrid said they were Fire Crabs,' Nathan shuddered, 'or maybe something like Blasting Skrewts?'

The teacher grimaced. 'I remember those things from Magical Creatures in my third year… horrible…'

'At least you weren't surrounded by them,' Daniel's face paled. 'Good job you knew that spell.'

'What did you use?' Louis had calmed down sufficiently to ask a civil question.

'Aguamenti,' Nathan answered. 'At least, that's what I meant to do. It was the only thing I could think of. It didn't work the first time, and then the second time it was just like a flood… like that time at the wand shop.'

Albus let out a low whistle. 'Wow…'

'Cool,' Louis grinned, the wide pupils of his eyes visibly shrinking as Nathan reflected his smile.

'Well, then,' the teacher interrupted, 'I suppose that's enough excitement for one day.' He talked over the beginning of a protest. 'I can't imagine that any of you have done your homework either. Back to the dungeons, please.'

Nathan watched Louis' shoulders sink, and the boy's pupils grow wider again, as he heard the professor's instructions. 'Louis too,' the blond boy insisted. 'We can't leave him here another night.'

'Yeah,' Albus nodded forcefully. 'Like you said, sir, _Slytherins Stick Together._ Let him go back where he belongs,' he took a breath. 'Where we _all_ belong.'

Greg paused for a moment, looking back from Albus' plea towards Louis' face, double-taking as he noticed the blue irises of the boy's eyes for the first time that evening. 'Well, you know,' he smiled. 'Now that I think about it, I reckon that's the best thing he could possibly do.'


	13. False Prophets

**A/N: Thank you to all who have read and followed/favourited so far; would really appreciate a review or two if you have a moment - what do you think of the characterisations of the first-years, whether Canon or OC...?**

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'Thanks for sticking up for me,' Louis pulled his hood down, breaking the silence that had filled the Slytherins' journey back to their common room, their Head of House having escorted the boys back to the dungeon door.

Albus reddened as Daniel, the last of the first-years, pushed their dormitory door shut behind him. 'I had to,' he muttered. 'After yesterday…' The eleven-year-old slumped onto his bed. 'When I…'

'Don't,' his cousin interrupted. 'It's alright.'

'I don't know why I said it at all,' Albus continued, miserably.

Daniel shivered as he pulled his t-shirt over his head. 'It's just what happens, isn't it? When someone's getting picked on, it's easy to join in.'

'I know,' Nathan agreed, quietly. 'That's what happened at Ascot.'

'Well it's not happening here!' Albus insisted, thumping his mattress with vigour. 'Not any more!'

Nathan sighed, huddling underneath his own duvet. ' _She_ won't stop, though, will she?'

'Who?' Daniel blinked. 'Miranda?'

'Or Rose,' Louis and Albus added in unison, before turning to face one another with an awkward smile and a half-laugh.

'Well, she can get lost, then!' Daniel insisted, boldly. 'Just cause she's your cousin doesn't mean you have to listen to her.'

'But…' Albus grimaced. 'Ever since we were little, we always used to say that we'd go to Hogwarts together…'

Daniel's voice grew cold. 'I used to think that my Mum was bothered about me, too,' his eyes narrowed, 'and look where that got me.'

'Dan?' Albus stuttered.

'Oh, shit.' Daniel swallowed, sinking beneath his sheets.

'Dan?' His friend repeated. 'I know your Mum wasn't happy when we saw you for the first time, but…'

The brown-haired boy laughed, emptily. 'You could say that,' he shook his head. 'Do you know what she said when I came back from Diagon Alley?' He asked, rhetorically. 'She said, "Go to your fucking school, you treacherous little shit.".'

The boys' dormitory fell silent as they heard Daniel's revelation, and the other children turned their heads away.

'I stayed with Professor Bennett for the rest of the week,' Daniel explained, before any of his housemates could ask him what had happened next.

Albus shuddered. 'Sorry, mate,' he offered, weakly. 'I didn't know…'

'It doesn't matter,' Daniel looked down. 'I was just saying, just because someone's family, it doesn't mean you have to listen to them.'

Louis shut his eyes, letting his head fall back onto the cool of his pillowcase. 'And I thought I had it bad…'

Daniel managed a weak grin. 'You only turned into some weird bird thing, what's so bad about that?' He smiled at Louis, making sure that the redhead knew he was joking. 'So, what about you, Nathan?' He propped himself up on his bed, looking across the room. 'Any crazy shit that we should know about you whilst we're sharing?'

'Not really,' the blond boy whispered. 'There was the thing with the cricket stump…' he sighed. 'I think it was the first time I did accidental magic. I made a cricket stump fly across the changing rooms so fast it went through the wall… it nearly hit my b… one of my friends in the face.'

'That was at your old school, right?' Louis asked. 'At Ascot?'

Nathan nodded.

Albus grimaced. 'I guess I shouldn't moan about Rose not talking to me, then.'

'I don't know,' Louis smirked, 'you've got it pretty tough; nothing like the sort of time your Dad had at school…'

'All right!' Daniel snapped in mock anger as Louis ducked away from his cousin's playful jab. 'That's enough! Will somebody tell me what Albus' Dad did?'

The two cousins shared a long, meaningful gaze, before Albus spoke up. 'Fine,' he groaned, 'but this is going to be a long night…'

A handful of corridors away, Greg Bennett collapsed into the low armchair that sat in front of his fireplace. 'Bloody hell,' he shook his head, talking to himself. 'Three days in…'

The teacher reached into a terracotta dish on the table beside his armchair, picking out a handful of silver-green powder and tossing it into the hearth. '6B, Flint Avenue, Richmond!'

The low fireplace at the teacher's London flat sparked into life as the image of Greg's face flickered on the coals that otherwise lay dormant within its grate. 'Theo?' He called out. 'Theo? You here?'

'Greg?' A shout echoed back across the flat from the kitchen on its opposite side. 'That you?'

'In the Floo,' the other man answered back, as his housemate strolled across the reflections that glinted in the room's wooden floor to squat on a low stool opposite the grate.

'How's things?' The Quidditch player asked, setting a glass of water down on the floor beside his seat.

Greg shook his head. 'Mental, mate,' he sighed. 'Utterly bloody mental.'

Theo laughed. 'Hasn't changed too much, then, has it?' He grinned. 'Are the dungeons still as we remember them?'

'Busier,' the teacher replied, flatly. 'Only four boys in the first year again, though.'

'Just like old times, right?'

Greg winced. 'We didn't have any boy Veelas, though, did we?'

'Boy Veelas?' Theo blinked. 'I didn't know you could get those.'

'Well I can promise that you can,' the teacher managed a half-smile. 'You never paid attention in CMC, anyway, did you?'

The other man rolled his eyes. 'Not biting, mate,' he smiled. 'You'll have to do better than that.'

'He's not a full-blown Veela or anything,' Greg continued, 'just one-eighth. I think that's the problem, though, that's what scares him… he can't control it properly.'

Theo nodded as he listened to his friend. 'How about the others? What about your crazy little man?'

'Daniel?'

'Yeah,' Theo swallowed a mouthful of his water, 'him.'

'Coping,' Greg answered cryptically. 'Would have been better if he hadn't have started chanting "Veela Boy, Veela Boy" at Louis, though.'

Theo snorted into his glass. 'What lessons are you running there, Greg? How to win friends and influence people, the Isaac Davies way?'

Greg managed a dry chuckle. 'At least he won't be calling anyone a mudblood,' he recalled one particularly fractious night during his own first year.

'Are they still at each others' throats, then?' Theo pressed, but Greg shook his head.

'Not since tonight,' the teacher concluded. 'It was their first flying lesson today. _Somehow_ Dan managed to fall off his broom into the Forbidden Forest, and then, Nathan, who's been scared of his own shadow since Diagon Alley, had the courage to go find him… and fight off a bunch of fire crabs along the way. I think they've got the idea of _Slytherins Stick Together_ now.'

Theo laughed again. 'You're right, mate,' he observed, 'that place _is_ mental. I guess it's like one of our coaches was saying today… you're going to have ups and downs but as long as you know you're on the right track, it's not worth worrying about them.'

Greg smiled. 'If only you'd listened to your teachers half as much as you listen to your coaches…'

'Oh, bugger off!'

This time it was the teacher's turn to laugh. 'Now you're biting!' He grinned. 'Anyway, mate, how's it with you? How's the real world?'

'Nothing special,' Theo shrugged. 'Apparently there was a disturbance or something in the Leaky Cauldron yesterday – Jack O'Hanrahan said something at training, I can't remember what,' he began to ramble. 'You know how it is in the season – train, train, train, train, train, matchday… It all merges into one in the end. We're up in Montrose on Saturday, actually. You should come along. It's not far, is it?'

Greg grimaced. 'As far as you are from a day out in Cambridge,' he retorted, before his expression brightened. 'I'll see if they'll let me out, mate. Would be good to stop thinking about the job for a moment or two…'

'You'll get through it, Greg,' Theo replied instantly. 'You always do. You think too much.'

'And you don't think enough,' the teacher smiled. 'That's why we make a good team.'

Theo laughed. 'See you Saturday, mate.'

'See you Saturday.'

Whether it was the distraction of the upcoming weekend, the end of the infighting in the first-year dormitory, or just the fact that he had finally begun to settle into his job, Greg found that the second half of his first week passed much more easily than the first part had done.

In fact, he was so deeply engaged in a conversation with Oliver Wood about the Wasps' eventual win over the Montrose Magpies that he barely noticed the cacophony of noise, both human and avian, that greeted the arrival of the post owls in the Great Hall the following Monday. He certainly didn't notice the front page headline that caught Albus' eye as soon as his copy of the _Daily Prophet_ thudded into his left elbow.

'Oh, bloody hell.' Albus dropped his fork with a clatter as the newspaper fell open beside his plate. 'Guys, have you seen this?' He asked, ignoring his food as he began to read from the front page.

 **MUGGLES SIGHTED IN DIAGON ALLEY**

 _The Magical world finds itself facing up to a series of awkward questions this morning,_ writes Morag Crooke _, following the sighting of two unnamed muggle individuals at the Leaky Cauldron last Thursday, and the subsequent efforts of the Ministry of Magic to conceal the incident from the public._

Daniel looked up from his own breakfast. 'Is that bad?' He asked, blankly. 'Al?'

The black-haired boy shook his head. 'I don't know, Dan,' he mumbled, 'but it's not normal.'

'Didn't you tell us that muggles couldn't go into Diagon Alley?' Daniel queried. 'That day, when we went in through the pub in London?'

'No,' Nathan interrupted. 'That's not right,' he spoke with unusual certainty. 'My Dad's a muggle, and he got in alright.'

Louis nodded. 'That must be because Professor Bennett told him it was there. So,' he theorised, 'that means someone must have told the muggles where the Leaky Cauldron was – and how to get in.'

Daniel shuddered. 'Now _that's_ got to be bad.'

'Yeah,' Albus agreed, 'it does.'

'Is there anything else in the Prophet?' Like the rest of his Housemates, Louis had forgotten about his breakfast.

'Let me have a look,' Albus picked up the newspaper again, scanning the second paragraph of the article, before drawing a breath.

 _Shortly before one o'clock on Tuesday afternoon, the two unidentified individuals were sighted entering the tavern through its Charing Cross Road entrance. They were challenged by landlady Hannah Longbottom, 37, and when it was established that neither was of wizarding stock, she detained the intruders by means of the_ Petrificus Totalus _charm until Obliviators from the Ministry of Magic arrived._

'Obliviators?' Daniel questioned, and Albus nodded, scanning the rest of the article before letting the paper drop.

'Yeah,' he confirmed that his friend had heard properly. 'They work at the Ministry. They wipe muggles' memories if they see something that they shouldn't have seen.'

Nathan swallowed. 'I hope they never do that to my Dad,' he whispered.

'Don't worry, mate,' Louis placed a hand on his friend's shoulder. 'They won't. He's allowed to know, because of you.' Louis shook his long fringe away from his eyes. 'Is that it, Al?'

'Pretty much,' the other boy nodded. 'The rest of it is all about the Ministry trying to cover it up, trying to stop the Prophet from reporting it.'

'Dad says that lots of the muggle newspapers just print lies to get people worried about things,' Nathan spoke up again. 'I guess I can see why the Ministry didn't want them to publish this.'

'Yeah, you're right,' Albus assented. 'This does fit in well with what we're studying in History, though, doesn't it?

Monday's timetable took the Slytherins to Professor Kennedy's penthouse classroom after morning break, and – after their conversation at breakfast – none of the boys were at all surprised to see their teacher holding up a copy of that morning's Daily Prophet.

'Morning, all,' Kennedy greeted them, perched on the front of his desk. 'I imagine many of you will have read today's front page.' A murmur of agreement bubbled around the room. 'Interesting, don't you think?' He picked up a drawing pin from the desk beside him and fastened the newspaper to the classroom wall with a flourish. 'Now, tell me what you think when you read that headline. What questions does it make you want to ask?'

Daniel raised his hand first. 'Who were they?'

'A fair question, Mr Hamilton,' the teacher assented, 'and one that the _Prophet_ is furious it cannot answer. Mr Stretton?' Kennedy turned to the tawny-haired Ravenclaw.

'How did they get in?'

'How do you think?' Miranda Skeeter interrupted, sarcastically. 'Through the door, can't you read?' The girls seated around Miranda snorted with spiteful laughter, and Toby reddened instantly.

'I knew that,' he defended himself. 'That's not what I meant, I meant… How did they know it was there? Isn't it protected?'

'Indeed it is,' Kennedy confirmed, casting a derogatory gaze towards Miranda and her cronies. 'Take two points to Ravenclaw, Mr Stretton,' he swallowed. 'It could have been five, had certain individuals learned a little more respect for mistakes.' The teacher shook his head. 'We all know the location of the Leaky Cauldron, but it's invisible to muggles; nothing but a rotten old door next to Macari's on the Charing Cross Road. Does anyone know what the name of the spell is that protects it from Muggle eyes?' Rose's hand shot upwards before the teacher finished his question, but Kennedy opted to ask Nathan instead.

'Is it Fidelius?' The blond boy offered, tentatively. 'When someone has to tell you about it for you to know that it's there?'

The teacher smiled. 'Most impressive knowledge, particularly for a muggle-born,' he nodded. 'Five points to Slytherin. So, the first part of our question has been answered, however… Louis?'

'We know _how_ they got in,' he summarised, 'but we don't know _who_ told them how to do it.'

Kennedy nodded. 'Or…'

Alexander raised a hand. ' _Why_ they did it?'

' _Now_ you're thinking like a Historian,' the teacher concluded, a wide grin spreading across his face. 'As usual, it's all about that one key question – _Why_? Why would anyone want to tear up the Statute of Secrecy like this?' Kennedy sat back down on his desk.

'What usually happens when someone's guilty of breaking the Statute?' Albus spoke for the first time in the lesson.

'That depends,' the teacher acknowledged the boy's question, 'on how big the breach is. Does anyone know which part of the statute is most commonly breached?'

'Clause 73,' Scorpius Malfoy answered, his voice brittle, 'about Magical Creatures.'

'Correct,' Kennedy nodded, 'and another two points to Ravenclaw. Clause 73 – also known as "Keep Your Bloody Monster in the Loch" – generally leads to a fine of a few hundred galleons, and a slap on the wrist, but deliberately exposing our world to Muggles… well, that's a different kettle of kelpies altogether,' he paused, musing. 'I imagine that enough of you collect chocolate frog cards to be familiar with the life of Carlotta Pinkstone?'

A few boys murmured, and Toby raised his hand to double-check his understanding. 'She kept doing magic in front of muggles, didn't she, and ended up in Azkaban for it?'

'There are a few finer details, Mr Stretton, but you have the general idea spot-on,' the teacher confirmed, beginning to lecture. 'She is the most recent, and perhaps the most famous, public opponent of the Statute in the 325 years since it passed into law…'

'Hey, Snakes!' Miranda's distinctive cackle echoed down the staircase outside the classroom after Kennedy had dismissed the class. 'I don't really care about the Statute of Secrecy, but have you read what was on Page 9?' She strutted towards the boys, flicking through the newspaper before holding up a bold headline that ran across the lower half of the page.

 **EXCLUSIVE: WHAT'S** ** _YOUR_** **CHILD GOING TO SCHOOL WITH?**

 _Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry has once again endangered the health and welfare of its students through the admission of pupils of non-human origin_ , writes Rita Skeeter. _This newspaper can exclusively reveal that this year's intake of students counts amongst its number a boy of Veela origin, a genetic rarity for which there is very little recorded precedent._

'Oh, fuck…' Albus staggered backwards as he read the start of the article, immediately realising that he was to blame for the journalist's scoop.

'Enjoy your bedtime reading, half-breed!' Miranda crowed with laughter, thrusting the story toward Louis' face before striding on, past the boys and down the staircase. Daniel reacted first, grabbing hold of the newspaper, crumpling it up into a ball before hurling it after the Ravenclaw girl, only to see it disintegrate into pages as it floated down the staircase.

'Ignore her,' Nathan hissed, taking hold of his friend's hand, before recoiling as he felt the sharp prick of nascent talons that were once the boy's nails. 'Louis,' his voice squeaked. 'We don't care,' he grabbed the redhead's wrist, steeling himself to stare into what he knew would be wide, black eyes. 'It doesn't matter what she thinks. _Slytherins Stick Together_.'

Albus nodded, clearing his throat before adding his voice to his housemate's defiance. 'Nathan's right, Louis,' he insisted. 'You can't let her win like this. _Slytherins Stick Together_.'

'It's not just Slytherins,' Toby Stretton gathered the courage to speak out. 'Like we said before, it doesn't matter what House you're in… and we mean it. I don't care if that bitch is in Ravenclaw with us, she's _nothing_ like me!'

'And it doesn't matter if you're half- or quarter-Veela,' Alexander Corner backed his housemate. 'You're still _you_ , you're still Louis!'

Louis blinked his wide eyes shut as he heard his own name, opening them again to reveal the flash of blue irises.

'Louis!' Nathan repeated, refusing to let go of the other boy's wrist. 'Louis! We're not going anywhere! You're still our friend!'

The redhead choked on a lungful of breath, slipping into a coughing fit as he stumbled into an alcove on the side of the stairwell, before slowly edging the red rims of his eyes open again.

'Shit,' Louis mumbled, nervously looking at the still-sharp tips of his fingernails. 'Sorry, I…'

'Don't apologise,' Daniel cut him off, abruptly. 'Nothing here's your fault.'

'Thank you,' the other boy smiled, weakly.

'It's okay,' Albus answered for his friend. 'We got you into this mess. We'll get you out of it.'


	14. Secrets and Lies

Charlie Riley let his head sink into the grass of the rugby pitch as the shrill blast of the referee's whistle signalled that Ascot School had conceded another try.

'Come on, Riley,' another boy's voice goaded him as the opposition's fly-half nervelessly drop-kicked the ball between the posts to further extend his team's lead. 'He's got past you three times now!'

'It wasn't all my fault!' Charlie retorted, getting to his feet as the referee blew for the end of the first half. 'What did you expect me to do?'

'Tackle him?' The other boy rolled his eyes.

Charlie shook his head in disbelief. 'It was two against one! If I'd have tackled him, he'd have just passed to their winger!'

'Sure,' Charlie's teammate sneered, 'how come we beat them last year, then? Nothing's changed, but now they keep scoring past you…'

'Last year I had some help!' Charlie snapped. 'Last year Nathan was playing outside!'

' _Nathan_?' The other boy repeated. 'You mean that nutter who tried to kill you with the cricket stump? What could he do?'

Charlie shoved his teammate away. 'He could tackle a hell of a lot better than you can, you moron!'

'Come on, come on, calm down,' the voice of the boys' coach interrupted their argument as he called them in to a circle. 'That won't help anybody. Riley,' he called the frustrated boy by his surname, 'take your anger out on St. Matthew's, not on your own team mates.'

'He started it!' Charlie defended himself, his face reddening beneath his short, brown fringe.

The coach shook his head. 'How old are you, nine? Get on with the game! _Everybody_ needs to up their tackle count…'

Charlie nodded, pretending to listen to the man's words, but all the while fixing his glare on the boy across the huddle. Saul Denness, the captain of the rugby team, had been the one to start the argument just moments before. How many tackles had he made, Charlie wondered, and how many times had he just waved somebody towards Charlie's part of the field? Last year, with Nathan alongside him, Charlie had felt like he could cope with almost anything, but today was different. Today, Charlie realised, he felt alone on a rugby pitch for the first time.

Ascot's huddle broke up before the eleven-year-old had any time to dwell on this uncomfortable revelation, and the boy was snapped back into the present by a shove in the back from Saul.

'You heard what he said, Riley,' the captain taunted him. 'Start tackling.'

'Piss off, Denness,' Charlie refused to look at the other boy. 'Why don't you try it for once?' He turned his back, running off to find his starting position, and locked eyes with the opposition player who had caused his team such trouble. 'I'll get you this time,' Charlie told himself, 'I'll show him.'

It didn't take Charlie long to get another opportunity to make the tackle, and with Saul's criticism ringing in his ears, he made sure that he made contact with his opponent.

'What the hell are you doing?' The captain dragged Charlie to his feet a moment later, watching the opposition's winger add to his team's lead.

'What did it look like?' Charlie shouted, shoving the other boy away from him. 'You told me to tackle him, so I tackled him.'

Saul groaned. 'They still scored!'

'I told you they'd still fucking score!' Charlie shouted. 'It's cause no one else fucking tackles! I can't do it all by myself!'

'Shut up, Riley, you can't tackle either, you…' The captain never had the chance to finish his sentence, as Charlie's temper got the better of him. The brown-haired boy swung a fist at his teammate, landing his punch on the other boy's nose with a crack that carried to the touchlines of the rugby pitch.

'RILEY!' The voice of the Ascot coach echoed out, but the eleven-year-old was never going to listen to the man. Throwing his jersey onto the turf, Charlie stormed off the field, kicking the door of the changing rooms open before lashing out, taking out his anger on the metal boot racks beneath his locker.

'Fucking Denness!' Charlie pretended that his eyes weren't burning as he shoved his school uniform into his rucksack, hurling his boots down into the locker in its place. With nothing more than the thin layer of his rugby padding covering his chest and shoulders, Charlie headed for the school's bike sheds with only one thought in his mind: home.

There was nobody else in the Riley family's detached house as Charlie let himself in the front door, locking his bicycle away in the wide porch before closing the door behind him. Nobody would be back for another couple of hours – the time when he would be due home from a normal Wednesday at Ascot School – and, he recognised as he dragged himself up the stairs, there was nobody at all to talk to; nobody who would understand how he felt at that moment. Nobody, perhaps, except Nathan Llewellyn.

Charlie pulled his rugby padding over his head, dropping it onto his bedroom floor before collapsing onto his sheets, burying his head into his pillow as a long-ignored memory began to replay in his mind.

It was the final game of their cricket season, the previous summer, against Belvoir House School. Ascot had lost – and Nathan had made a mistake in the final minutes, dropping a hard, flat throw from Charlie, fielding in the deep, which would have run out the opposition's best batsman.

Charlie recalled the yell of frustration that had escaped as he watched the ball spill onto the ground. 'God, Nathan! You just lost us the game! You know that, right?'

Belvoir House never offered another chance, and minutes later, with the winning runs scored, and the boys back inside the pavilion, Charlie – with his teammates' voices egging him on – had reminded Nathan of his error. 'You only had to catch it, and we'd have got him out!' He persisted, oblivious to the keeper's tears. 'You just fucked up our whole season, you useless piece of shit!' The changing room filled with sycophantic laughter, jeering at Nathan's despair as the blond boy hid his face below folded arms.

This was the moment when the stump had been thrown. Charlie shivered, remembering the fizzing sound that had split the air around him and the splintering smash that had shattered the wooden wall by his side. Part of Charlie's brain protested as it saw the memory, however, nagging him with an awkward question that he couldn't answer. Nathan's hands had been wrapped tightly together, shielding his own face from the glare of his teammates. How, then, could he have thrown the stump?

Charlie shuddered again, as his memory replayed the foul insults he had hurled towards a boy who, the day before, would have called him his best friend. 'You're the piece of shit, Charlie Riley,' the eleven–year-old told himself, feeling his throat tighten as he spoke. He bolted for the bathroom, and vomited.

Charlie stood up, slowly, cleaning himself up before turning to face himself in the mirror as the sound of the flushing toilet filled the room. 'You're the piece of shit,' he whispered again, staring at a reflected face that seemed much paler than he remembered. 'No wonder he didn't come back.' Charlie trudged back to his own bedroom, running his finger along a bookshelf filled with copies of his school's magazine. 'September 2017,' he read the date on the spine of the volume at the right-hand end, pulling it from the shelf and dropping onto his bed as the magazine fell open onto its middle pages.

'Leavers,' Charlie read aloud, his eyes falling onto a smiling picture of a blond boy in his cricket whites – a photograph, Charlie realised, which must have been taken _before_ that match. 'Llewellyn, Nathan Rhodri. Major Scholarship, Merchiston Castle School.' Charlie flung the magazine onto the floor, scrambling onto the swivel chair beside his desk and flipping open the front page of an A4 notepad. Lifting the cold metal of a fountain pen from the side of his desk, Charlie began to write.

 _Dear Nathan,_

 _I'm sorry. I know it's too late now to make any difference to what I did, but something happened today to make me realise how stupid I'd been. I called you a piece of shit, but I should have called myself that._

 _You didn't mean to drop that throw. I know that. You couldn't have thrown the stump at me, either, but whatever happened, I deserved it. I don't know why I shouted at you like that. I know how it made you feel, really I do. The same thing happened to me today, in rugby._

 _We lost to St Matthew's, and Saul was having a massive go at me because their centres kept scoring. It's not the same without you playing at outside. No one else tackles! Anyway, I lost my temper, and smacked Saul in the face. I'm going to be in so much trouble, but he deserved it. Same as I deserved it after that game._

 _I don't know if you'll want to write back, or even if you ever want to talk to me again, but I really hope you do. I hope you are enjoying it at your new school._

 _From Charlie_

The eleven-year-old skim-read back through his letter, before digging into the top drawer of his desk and pulling out an envelope into which he could push his letter. 'Please write back, Nathan,' he pleaded, tamely. 'No one else will get it. Please.'

Fifty miles away, on a housing estate to the north of Oxford, another eleven-year-old found himself feeling similarly alone.

Connor Norris' messy blond hair lay unkempt and neglected, hanging over his eyes as the boy slowly wound his way along the hedge-lined footpath that led away from the main road, and back to his terraced house.

It wasn't fair, he complained to himself. It wasn't fair that his best friend's mum had kicked him out, and that some long-lost uncle had then gone and paid for him to go off to a boarding school in Scotland. It wasn't fair that he didn't know anyone at Gosford High, and it wasn't fair that he had got detention because he hadn't learned what an ice-rink was in French. Connor tried the handle of his front door, before hunting under the doormat to find a key and letting himself in. 'I wish Dan was still here,' he lamented, checking through the stack of junk mail that sat inside the door. 'He said he'd write…'

Connor dropped the pile of envelopes and flyers back onto the ground. 'I don't even know which school he's gone to,' the boy grimaced, thinking out loud. 'What if he doesn't come back? What if…' Connor shook his head, cursing his own fear as he dragged himself upstairs, before sinking onto a beanbag at the edge of his bedroom, and staring forlornly at the jumble of letters on the pages of a French textbook. 'Please write, Dan…' the eleven-year-old sighed. 'Please.'

Albus had taken to looking skywards every morning, as the rattle of the rafters signalled the arrival of the flock of post owls. He had eagerly devoured the latest copies of the Daily Prophet, searching for any extra information about the mysterious strangers in Diagon Alley. To the obvious frustration of the newspapers' journalists, however, the Ministry of Magic had divulged nothing more, and the boy's glance up to the Friday morning owls was borne out of hope rather than anything more substantial.

'Hang on,' Albus' eyes did a double-take as they registered the sight of an unfamiliar, jet black bird on its way towards the Slytherin table. 'Whose owl is that?' The boy watched as the unknown owl swooped gracefully down to the first-years' end of the table, dropping an envelope into Nathan's hands and snatching a rasher of bacon from the boy's plate. 'Nathan?' Albus queried. 'Is that your…'

'No,' the blond boy shook his head, decisively, as he read the handwriting on the envelope and noted the first-class stamp in the top right-hand corner. 'It's not even got the right address… it says Merchiston Castle School.'

'Who's it from?' Daniel pressed his housemate as Nathan turned the envelope over, running his fingers along the seal before folding out the contents within. 'Nathan?' Daniel asked again.

'Nath?' Louis echoed, watching his friend's eyes bug wide as he read the letter, and warily placing his hand on the other boy's shoulder. 'You alright?'

Nathan nodded, slowly. 'It's from Charlie Riley,' he whispered. 'My best friend at Ascot… until, until…'

'The stump thing?' Daniel supplied, bluntly, and Nathan nodded again.

'Yeah…' he mumbled. 'Shit…' Nathan shook his head, letting his forearms drop against the tabletop.

'What's it say?' Louis asked, tentatively. 'Is it…'

'It's fine,' Nathan stopped his friend from asking anything else. 'He said he's sorry…' His eyes fell back onto the letter. 'He said he deserved it.'

Louis blinked. 'Really?'

'Yeah,' Nathan pushed the letter towards the other boy. 'He wants me to write back.'

Daniel's eyes narrowed. 'What can you tell him, though?' He queried. 'I said I'd write to my best friend from primary, but I don't know what to say, with the Statute of Secrecy and everything...'

'You mean you haven't written to him?' Albus checked. 'Not at all?'

Daniel shook his head.

'You should,' his housemate decreed.

'That's easy for you to say,' Daniel retorted. 'You don't have to write it.'

'That doesn't mean you have to ignore it,' Albus wouldn't be dissuaded, 'or do it all on your own. You should _both_ write back,' he suggested, 'and we'll get Professor Bennett to check that everything's alright.'

Neither muggle-born had any complaints about Albus' suggestion, and by the time the boys were gathered around their House table again that evening, they had two scruffy letters to show their Head of House.

'Did you go to a primary school?' Daniel asked the two cousins through a mouthful of mashed potato.

'Yeah,' Louis fudged his answer, 'but it wasn't the same. It was in Godric's Hollow, which is a village that's half-magical and half-muggle… and the primary school is the same. We got to know the muggle kids, but our best friends were always all magical, cause, well, we _knew…_ The headteacher was a wizard as well, so any accidental magic got sorted out without any problems.'

A wry grin spread over Daniel's face. 'So you never got into trouble, then?'

Albus laughed. 'Louis wouldn't ever have got into any trouble anyway! He was teacher's pet…'

'Hey,' his cousin reddened. 'Coming from someone who just sat in the corner and _never_ said anything!'

Now it was Albus' turn to blush and Louis grinned. 'Why didn't we ever become friends at primary?' The dark-haired boy asked, and his cousin shrugged, before grimacing as an answer came into his mind.

'I think I know,' his voice dropped. 'Rose.'

'Oh,' Albus swallowed. 'Shit. Sorry, I…'

'Don't,' Louis shook his head. 'It doesn't matter, really it doesn't. It's history, right?'

Albus nodded, slowly, downing a cupful of pumpkin juice. 'Yes,' he confirmed 'and, like Neal says, we learn from history.'

'Like what we're allowed to say in our letters?' Nathan tried to change the subject, wiping a gravy stain from the edges of his mouth. 'Shall we ask Professor Bennett now, before he goes?'

A general murmur of agreement followed the blond boy's idea, and the four children scrambled to their feet and crossed the short distance towards the staff table, where the teacher sat, listening to a long lecture from Hermione Weasley, the Deputy Head. Greg glanced to his right, hearing the boys' footsteps, and acknowledged their arrival with a curt nod. 'Well, here's my opportunity, Hermione,' he interrupted, tersely. 'I'll let you know,' he got to his feet. 'Come on, boys,' he instructed the children, shepherding them out of the Great Hall. 'We'll talk in my office.'

The group of Slytherins followed their Head of House along the maze of corridors and passages towards the teacher's office. 'Come in, lads,' Greg held the door open, ushering the boys inside. 'Colloportus.' He sighed. 'How much did you hear?'

'Hear when?' Daniel spoke for the first-years. 'Just now?' The boy shook his head. 'Nothing. We just wanted to ask you something.'

'Alright,' the teacher nodded, poker-faced. 'Ask away.'

Daniel glanced quickly at his housemates, before taking a deep breath and beginning their question. 'We… I mean, me and Nathan… we want to write to our friends from our old schools, but we're not sure what we're allowed to say. We've been doing about the Statute of Secrecy in History of Magic, and people going to prison if they tell about the magical world, and we're worried if…'

'Dan,' the teacher held his hand up, halting the boy's stream of words as a smile spread across his face. 'Stop. You've said more than enough.' Greg walked across his quarters, planting himself in the tattered armchair beside the fireplace and beckoning the boys to squeeze onto a sofa opposite. 'That conversation I've just had with Professor Weasley… it was about the security risks surrounding muggle-born children, following last week's incident at the Leaky Cauldron. Thank you for confirming that you are not going to need a lecture about the importance of the statute.' He paused. 'I reckon Professor Kennedy's already said enough about that, anyway.'

Louis managed a thin smile. 'Yeah,' he agreed. 'We thought we'd ask you whether what we'd written was alright?'

'Sure thing, mate.' Greg acknowledged the eleven-year-old's request. 'Let's hear them.'

Nathan reached into his trouser pocket, unfolding the parchment on which he'd written his letter, and beginning to read.

 _Dear Charlie_

 _You're not a piece of shit._

The eleven-year-old blushed immediately, realising what he had said in front of the teacher. 'That's what he said, in his letter, that he was…'

'It's alright, Nathan,' Greg reassured the boy. 'There's a big difference between swearing, and swearing _at_ someone. Sometimes there's just nothing else you can say.'

Nathan nodded, looking back to his letter without another word.

 _If you were then you wouldn't have written to me and you wouldn't have said sorry. It's okay. We can still be friends._

 _Saul is an idiot. He thinks he's so much better than he really is. Just ignore him. There is a girl here at my school who's been horrible to me and some of my new friends, but we're all just trying to ignore her, no matter what she does._

 _It's great here, we are learning a lot of new things every day, but I do miss home sometimes. It is a lot colder in Scotland than it is in Ascot. I'll be back home at Christmas – you can come and stay over if you want._

 _From Nathan_

He lowered the paper again, making eye contact with the teacher once more. 'Is that alright?'

'That's fine, mate,' the teacher smiled. 'Why on earth did you think there might be something wrong with it?'

The boy shrugged. 'I just wanted to make sure…'

'No worries,' Greg acknowledged. 'Better safe than sorry, right? What about yours, Dan?

The other muggle-born copied his housemate in unfolding a piece of parchment from his own pocket.

 _To Connor_

 _I'm sorry I haven't written to you before. I couldn't think of what to say. It is better than Primary was. We are learning some new subjects, but History is my favourite. What about you? How many new friends have you made, and what are they like?_

 _You can write to me, the address is Merchiston Castle School, in Edinburgh._

 _From Dan_

'I take it the only reason you've put "History" is because you wouldn't be allowed to say "Transfiguration"?' The man delighted in watching Daniel's discomfort. 'Just be aware, he might ask you some other questions about school and you've got to be careful you don't tell him anything that might make him think something's up… it's not lying, guys,' he assured the first-years, 'it's just being careful with the truth. You're muggle-borns, and you're sensible kids. You'll know what your friends might find weird. It's just like our little arrangement with Merchiston,' the teacher observed, 'which I see you've figured out. Their Senior Master's a wizard,' he clarified.

'Thanks, sir,' Nathan replied for the group, and the teacher grinned.

'Any time, boys,' Greg acknowledged him. 'How have things been with Miss Skeeter this week?

'Um,' Albus was the first to reply, albeit unconvincingly. 'She's the one in Nathan's letter,' he explained. 'We're just trying to ignore her. It's worse for Toby and Xander, they're in Ravenclaw too so they can't avoid her. She keeps calling them snake charmers, just cause they're our friends.'

Greg nodded. 'Anything you want me to try and do about it?'

The boys exchanged glances, before Daniel spoke up on the group's behalf. 'No, sir,' he answered, bluntly.

'Got it,' the man accepted. 'One of those things where a teacher's voice isn't going to make any difference, am I right?'

'Right,' Daniel replied.

'Understood,' Greg got to his feet with a spring in his step. 'I take it that's it, then?' The teacher made his way towards the doorway. 'Alohomora,' he pointed his wand at its lock. 'Have a great weekend!'

'Do you think we should have said something?' Albus asked his housemates as they wound their way back to the Slytherin common room.

Daniel shook his head, decisively. 'No, Al,' he insisted. 'Like he said, what could he do about it, anyway? Besides, It's Xan and Toby who've got it worst, when there's no teachers around.'

Albus sighed, recognising the truth in his friend's words. 'I guess you're right,' he grimaced. 'It's down to us instead.' He touched his wand against the black marble wall that hid the entrance to the dungeons. 'Newton Abbot.'

'How do we send these letters off, Albus?' Nathan asked as the four boys filed into the common room. 'I haven't got an owl.'

'You can borrow mine,' an older boy, who Louis quickly recognised as Max Deverill, the Quidditch team's seeker, called from the top of the staircase, envelope in hand. 'I'm off up to the owlery now. Are yours going anywhere near Wiltshire?'

'Ascot,' Nathan answered, 'and Daniel's in Oxford, so not too far.'

The other muggle-born boy hesitated. 'What about stamps, though?' He questioned, before explaining his concern to the fourth-year. 'These letters are for our friends, who are muggles. They'll think it's weird if they don't have stamps on them.'

Max smiled. 'My family's not magical either. This is why they invented the stamp charm. Have you put them in their envelopes yet?'

Daniel shook his head.

'Go and sort them out, then,' the older boy instructed, 'and I'll take them up to the owlery when I go.'

'Thank you,' Nathan hurried towards the spiral staircase. 'They'll never know we're at Hogwarts.'


	15. Covered Memories

_14_ _ **Covered Memories**_

'See you later, Nath,' Louis called to his friend the following morning, leaving the muggle-born boy sitting in the front row of one of the main stand of the Quidditch pitch as the other three Slytherins took to their brooms for the annual trials.

'See you,' Nathan echoed, wondering privately what he would do with the next hour whilst his friends tried out for the House teams. 'Good luck,' he sighed, propping his feet up against the rail at the front of the stand, and recalling the contents of his old friend's letter.

This combination of Quidditch and memory combined to distract the blond boy so completely from his surroundings that he failed to notice Alexander and Toby, the two Ravenclaws, sitting down next to him, and he jumped at the sound of his name.

Toby laughed at his friend's obvious shock. 'What's up with you, Nathan?' He asked, gently.

The Slytherin shook his head, forcing himself back into the moment. 'Nothing,' he mumbled. 'Just thinking about home… How come I ended up a wizard and my friends didn't? What if it was Charlie who was here, and me who was still back in Ascot, getting into fights about rugby games?'

Toby blinked. 'Who's Charlie?' The Ravenclaw asked. 'What's rugby?'

Nathan allowed himself a grin. 'A muggle sport,' he explained briefly. 'I'll show you guys how to play it some time,' he sighed. 'Charlie was my best friend at my old school… until the last couple of weeks.' The eleven-year-old retold the story of the incident with the cricket stump. 'I know it was accidental magic now,' he reflected, 'but I don't know what I'm going to say to Charlie at Christmas.'

'Oh,' Toby nodded. 'I don't know, either,' he added, awkwardly. 'I mean, I…'

'It's okay, mate,' Nathan talked over his friend. 'It's just hard,' he exhaled, 'and it won't go away.' He forced himself to smile. 'I'll work something out, though: we've been friends since we were four.'

'Did you ever… I mean, that thing with the cricket stump,' Alexander changed the subject clumsily. 'Was that the first time you ever did magic? I know you didn't realise at the time, but…'

'Yeah,' Nathan saved the other boy the trouble of completing his tangled question. 'That was the first time. It happened again in the summer, though… the first time I met Professor Bennett and Louis.' He shivered at the memory of the way he'd sworn at his soon-to-be housemate. 'I made a thunderstorm happen.'

Alexander whistled. 'My Dad… he's trying to do research into how people turn out magical or not – things like muggle-borns and squibs.'

'Squibs?'

'Children with magical parents who can't do magic themselves,' the black-haired boy answered the unasked question. 'Every kid in the magical world grows up afraid of being a squib, and not being able to come to Hogwarts,' Alexander took a breath. 'Some families seem like they have lots more squibs than others,' he continued, 'and Dad wants to find out why.'

Nathan's interest piqued as he heard the other boy talk of his father's work. 'My Dad's a scientist, too. Not the same, I don't think, but I know he investigates stuff like diseases and things… we call it "genetics", things you inherit from your parents.'

'Does he know about magic?' Alexander had been completely distracted from the Quidditch trials a handful of yards away.

'Yeah,' Nathan confirmed, 'muggle-borns are allowed to tell their immediate family.'

'So…' Alexander's brain tried to process the new information it had learned. 'Do you think he might help you find out why you're a wizard?'

The Slytherin boy shrugged. 'I don't really know much about his work,' he repeated, 'but he might, I guess… I mean, if it was me, then I would.' Nathan sighed. 'Are your parents all wizards?'

'Yeah,' Alexander nodded. 'My Mum and Dad were in Harry Potter's year at school.'

'Al's dad?'

'Yeah,' the Ravenclaw confirmed, wryly. 'My parents get tired of people asking them about the war, and about Dumbledore's Army… but it must be even worse for him.'

'I bet,' Nathan nodded, dumbly. 'What about your parents, Toby?'

'Wizards,' the tawny-haired boy answered, simply. 'Not as famous as Xander's parents, though. Nothing like. They emigrated during the last war,' he admitted, turning away from his friends.

Alexander shifted on his own seat. 'So what if they did?' He challenged his housemate. 'They're not you,' he emphasised.

'I know,' Toby mumbled, 'but it's a bit embarrassing when I hear everybody else talking about what their parents did.'

'It could be a lot worse,' Alexander argued back. 'Look at Scorpius; his Dad fought on _their_ side. No wonder he never talks to anyone. It's amazing he's not in Slyth… er… shit,' he caught himself, blushing furiously. 'Sorry, I…'

Nathan laughed. 'I know what you meant,' he grinned. 'I listened enough in History for that!' The blond boy shoved his friend playfully on the arm. 'What about Louis, though?' He half-changed the subject. 'That Veela thing, that's from his parents, isn't it?'

'It's from his Mum,' the Ravenclaw answered. 'She was part-Veela… and a Triwizard Champion too. Her Grandma was a full Veela – so it's from Louis' Great-Grandma.'

'Triwizard?' Nathan blinked, and Toby smiled as he remembered his own confusion when the muggle-born boy had mentioned rugby.

'Wizard sport,' he explained. 'It's a tournament between the three biggest schools in Europe to find out who the best wizard is.'

Nathan nodded, but his questions didn't stop there. 'Why is everyone so fussed about him being a _male_ Veela, though? Surely there has to be male Veelas for them to continue, doesn't there?'

'That's just it, though, isn't it?' Alexander smiled. 'You'd think so, wouldn't you… but I looked it up, and there's almost nothing in the library on them. That article in the Prophet was right about that.'

Nathan dropped back onto his chair, turning his attention to the Quidditch trials for a moment to see Louis snatch a quaffle out of the air, before spinning and hurling it towards Albus. 'Well I guess someone ought to find out, then,' he recalled the loneliness he'd felt during the summer, 'cause nothing's worse than not knowing what's going to happen.'

Nathan mustered the courage to mention the subject of Louis' genetics that evening as the four first-years relived the morning's Quidditch trials, taking advantage of a pause in the discussion of feints, passes, shots and saves.

'Louis…' the boy offered, tentatively. 'Did your Mum and Dad ever say anything about you being a boy Veela?' He hesitated. 'Like, if your Mum ever had any brothers or male cousins, or anything like that?'

The room fell quiet, and Louis stared warily at his housemate before forming his reply. 'Why do you want to know?'

Nathan took a deep breath. 'I was talking to Xan and Toby,' he began. 'Xan said there was hardly anything about them, anywhere…'

'So?' Louis' voice turned cold. 'What's it got to do with you?'

'We… we just…' Nathan stammered. 'We just thought…'

'Why's it any of your business?' The redhead snapped, turning away from his friend. 'It's bad enough as it is, without you having a go at me as well.'

'He only asked you, Louis,' Albus challenged his cousin's reaction. 'He wasn't having a go.'

'But…'

'But what?' Albus didn't relent. 'He stood up for you all that time, remember? He's not having a go at you,' the first-year repeated. 'He's just asking.'

'Nat's right, isn't he?' Daniel interrupted, sensing his discomfort. 'You don't know anything about it either, do you?'

Louis' eyes began to water, growing darker and wider as they did so. 'I, I…' He swallowed, before shaking his head. 'He's right. I don't know anything else,' he admitted. 'None of the men in Mum's family have been Veelas before. She didn't even think it was possible. No one did,' he gasped for breath, 'and no one knows what's going to happen to me as I get older…' He brushed the back of his wrist against his face, drying his eyes as he turned to face Nathan again. 'Sorry, Nath, I don't know why I…'

'It doesn't matter,' Nathan brushed off his friend's apology. 'It's okay,' he gathered his thoughts, 'but, like I was going to say, shouldn't _we_ try and find anything out before _she_ does?'

Louis nodded. 'Yes,' he answered, quietly but decisively. 'We should.'

Nathan managed a thin smile. 'That time outside Transfiguration,' he ventured, aware that he would be digging up a painful memory, 'was that the first time you… you changed?'

The redheaded boy sighed. 'Yes,' he admitted. 'There's always been… bits…' he struggled to put his words into order. 'When I've been cross, or upset. My eyes are the worst.'

'All the family know,' Albus added. 'It was just little things, his eyes, like he said, and his nose and ears sometimes.'

'It had never happened like that before, though,' Louis explained, 'and never for so long.'

Albus' voice dropped. 'No one had ever been as bad as we were before, though, had they?' he gulped. 'And it's only ever happened when you're angry or upset, hasn't it?'

Louis nodded. 'I've tried to make it happen on my own,' he confessed, 'when I was little, or when I was bored… I wanted to see if I could make it happen, but I never could.' He shook his head, sadly. 'I can't control it, not like Vic and Dom can… it just happens to me.' Louis sniffled. 'Sorry,' he shivered.

'It's okay, Nathan repeated.

'Yeah,' Albus echoed. 'It's not your fault,' he insisted, putting an arm around his cousin's shoulders, 'and we'll help you figure it out, cause there's got to be a reason,' his voice grew insistent, 'and that means there's got to be a way to explain it.'

Connor Norris leant back against a dull stone wall on the narrow road that ran alongside a covered marketplace that bustled with Saturday morning shoppers, hiding from the steady drizzle that soaked the centre of Oxford. Connor lifted the top of his black hoodie, shielding his face from the breeze as he watched a group of schoolboys cluster together at the end of the cobbled street, blazers damp in the autumnal rain.

'Losers,' he muttered to himself as he caught sight of the navy and blue stripes on one of the children's ties, and fixing the boy with a cold stare as his jaws closed over a stick of gum. 'School on a Saturday,' he shook his head as the other boy turned away to face his teacher.

Connor looked around the street, the grey skies half-reflecting in the standing water around the gutters at the sides of the pavement, echoing the tired masonry of the buildings at either side. To the boy's left, an iron grate half-closed an alleyway that led through to the back of the covered market, and the engine of a white van idled on his other side, between the eleven-year-old and the gathered schoolboys. 'Just Like Magic,' he read the green lettering daubed along the side of the van.

'We're heading for Carfax Tower,' a voice that could only have belonged to a schoolteacher echoed off the sandstone walls as the white van edged forwards into a vacant parking space. 'So please follow in line, down Market Street and left at the end, onto Cornmarket. Denness, stay with Ogundo.'

The local boy couldn't help but smirk as he watched the class troop along the path, keeping a wary distance from his stony glare, and occasionally preferring to splash a polished black shoe into the roadside puddles than come too close to Connor's space. 'What are you looking at?' He challenged a lone boy who straggled, several yards behind the tail end of the line, brown-haired and pale-skinned, but before the other child could respond, the normality of a routine Saturday morning had been shattered.

An ear-splitting crash echoed across the street, instantly followed by a flood of thick white smoke that choked the air around the boys, before a fusillade of other blasts merged into a chorus of car alarms and panicked screams as Connor coughed for breath. 'Shit,' he gasped, blinking as the petrified face of the other schoolboy appeared out of the mist. 'What the fuck was that?'

The brown-haired boy shook his head, mutely mouthing words that were never accompanied by sounds, before another explosion echoed in the distance, shaking the local boy into action.

'Come on,' Connor urged, jerking his head towards the iron gate behind him. 'You can't stay out here, it's not safe.'

The other boy nodded dumbly, following Connor's blond head through the gate, before cutting sharply right into an even narrower passage. 'This goes under the market,' Connor explained. 'Me and Dan always used to… it doesn't matter, come on,' he insisted, reaching through the steel grille of a gate to unlock a latch and allow the two boys into a darkened cellar. 'You can get through the other side, out onto the High Street.' Connor took a breath, realising that his companion hadn't yet uttered a word. 'Hey,' he paused, turning to face the other boy in the half-light, 'are you alright?'

'What… What happened?'

Connor shrugged. 'How should I know?' He asked. 'Someone blew something up! I wasn't sticking around to find out what!' He shook his head. 'I'm Connor, by the way.'

'Charlie,' the other boy whispered.

'Nice tie, Charlie,' Connor smirked, grinning as the brown-haired boy blushed.

'I have to wear it,' Charlie defended himself. 'It's school uniform.'

'On a Saturday?' Connor snorted, derisively. 'What sort of school makes you wear something that looks like that?'

Charlie shook his head. 'A stupid school, that's what,' he retorted. 'One that never sticks up for you if you make a mistake.'

'Oh,' Connor swallowed, remembering how the other boy had lingered behind his peers as the class headed along Market Street. 'I hate my school too,' he admitted. 'Ever since my best friend left to go to some boarding school in Scotland.'

'What?' Charlie startled, his elbow knocking back into a steel keg stationed behind him. 'Which one?'

Connor eyed the other boy suspiciously. 'What's it got to do with you?'

'The same thing happened to me,' Charlie answered, quietly, 'this summer.'

'Really?' Connor blinked. 'Shit,' he shook his head. 'I can't remember its name properly; Something Castle?'

'Merchiston Castle,' Charlie replied. 'That's where Nathan went.'

'Shit,' Connor swore again. 'So,' he ventured, 'that's why you were stood behind all the others.

Charlie nodded. 'They're all tossers,' he snapped, 'and I nearly ended up like them,' he exhaled sharply, 'but that doesn't matter, not any more.' The eleven-year-old sniffed, grateful for the gloom that hid his reddened eyes from his new acquaintance, and shook himself. 'That other exit, do you think it will be safe?'

Connor shook his head. 'Not now,' he answered, 'you saw what happened. The whole city must be going mental. The police will be out there for hours.'

'Do you think they'll come down here?' Charlie fretted, his eyes darting around the semi-darkness as the features of the basement grew clearer.

Connor grimaced. 'They're bound to,' he observed, simply. 'They'll search the whole market.'

This time it was Charlie's turn to swear, and the local boy couldn't help but smirk. 'What would your teacher say if he heard you say that?'

Charlie rolled his eyes. 'He'd love it. It would mean he could finish expelling me.'

'Finish?' Connor blinked, and the other boy nodded in confirmation.

'I got suspended last week, for breaking somebody's nose.'

Connor whistled.

'He deserved it,' Charlie insisted, fiercely, and Connor grinned.

'I bet he did,' the boy laughed. 'Well,' he offered, 'there might be another way out, if you want to try it. Me and Dan followed it once, as far as one of the College Quads, but we didn't get out the other side because it was full of students.'

'Better students than policemen,' Charlie observed.

'Alright, then. Why not?' Connor smiled. 'Come on, let's go.' He turned, leading the way towards a thin passage that led off from the main cellar. 'I wonder if our friends know each other?'

'This is the end of the passage,' Connor explained a few minutes later, as a handful of shards of broken sunlight dappled the tunnel's masonry. 'It sounds pretty quiet.' He edged towards the steel grille that punctuated the ceiling. 'Can you give me a leg-up?'

'Sure,' Charlie nodded, and the shorter boy scrambled onto his companion's shoulder, peering left and right across the old courtyard before shunting the grate upwards with the palm of his hand.

'All clear,' Connor reported. 'Everyone's inside, or watching the road.' He scrambled out of the grate, before turning to grab hold of Charlie's wrist and hoist the other boy out.

'Thanks,' Charlie breathed as he climbed clear. 'You're bleeding, did you know that?'

Connor's hand jerked upwards. 'What?' He shuddered. 'Where?'

'Just on your cheek,' Charlie assured him. 'It's nothing big,' the boy reached into his pocket for a tissue, and held it out. 'You'll be alright.'

'Okay,' Connor nodded. 'Now come on, let's get out of here, let's go!'

Charlie didn't need to be told again, and he followed the other boy across the courtyard. The two children pressed themselves close to the stone wall of the college's outbuildings, inching the final yards back onto the cobbled street outside before melting into the gathered crowd of people.

'This is where we were stood…' Charlie observed. 'Like, half an hour ago…' He craned his neck, straining to see over the mass of strangers in front of him, before clambering up onto the college's window frames as he struggled to make out the scene in Market Street.

'What can you see?' Connor asked, shoving his shoulder beneath Charlie's kneecap to hoist the other boy higher still.

'My class,' Charlie answered, bluntly. 'Just stood there, waiting… I'd better get back.'

Connor eased backwards, releasing his support as the other boy jumped down from his perch. 'To all the other tossers?'

Charlie sighed. 'I wish I didn't,' he managed a weak smile, 'but I'll get in so much shit if I don't.'

Connor laughed.

'Hey,' Charlie hesitated as he turned away, pulling a pencil and a piece of paper from his pocket. 'What's your mobile number?'

'This,' the blond boy replied, flipping open a simple cellphone, and showing the screen. 'Text me later.'

'Sure,' Charlie smiled. 'See you.'

'That black owl's back again,' Albus looked up instinctively as the echoes of the morning mail deliveries filled the Great Hall. 'More letters for Merchiston Castle, I guess…'

The bird dived sharply towards the end of the Slytherin table, knocking Daniel's goblet of pumpkin juice sideways as it snatched a full rasher of bacon from his place, leaving two envelopes on the wooden table top in its place.

'One each,' Daniel noted, picking up the body of the shattered glass. 'Me and you, Nat.' He tossed one of the letters across the table to the other muggle-born boy, before tearing open his own and beginning to read its contents. 'Bloody hell…' he stuttered, his head turning so that his eyes could lock with Nathan's as the blond boy stared back at him, open-mouthed. 'Has… does yours...'

Nathan nodded, slowly. 'Yes.'

'What is it?' Albus pressed his friends, immediately aware that all was not ordinary. 'What's happened?'

Daniel took a deep breath. 'Should I read mine first?' He glanced back towards Nathan, who nodded in response. 'Okay.'

 _Dan_

 _You'll never believe this, but I swear it's all true. I met someone in Oxford yesterday who knows another boy in your year at your school. He's called Charlie and his friend is called Nathan. Do you know him?_

 _You must have heard about the bombs that went off in Oxford? We were there. It went off in Market Street and we escaped down that passage into the college that we found once._

 _There's something weird, though. There was a van right outside the market just before the bombs went off, only nobody else can remember it. I swear it was there, it had "Just Like Magic" or something on the side, in big green letters, and it was where the explosions started! No one else believes me about it._

 _We are going to try and find out what happened. Thanks for letting me know how to write to you. I tried texting you but I guess you must have no signal?_

 _Bye_

 _Connor_

'Shit,' Albus gasped as Daniel placed the letter back down on the breakfast table, grabbing for a glass of cold water. 'Yours is the same, right Nathan?'

'Pretty much,' the blond boy nodded. He cleared his throat, beginning to read from his own letter.

 _Dear Nathan_

 _Thanks for writing back to me. I can't wait to see you again at Christmas! I'm glad you've made new friends. I've made a new friend too, but not at Ascot. I met him in Oxford on Saturday on a school trip. It's amazing, because his best friend also went to Merchiston Castle this summer. Have you met anyone called Daniel Hamilton?_

 _Anyway, we met in the weirdest way. We were on a school trip, walking through Oxford, and then this explosion happened… I got split up from the others, but I met Connor. He showed me a secret passage down through the market that led us away from all the noise and the smoke and out through one of the colleges. You must have seen it on the news._

 _I think it's a miracle nobody got seriously hurt, but the police don't seem to have any idea who did it. Connor keeps saying that there was a white van outside before everything happened, but I never saw it. Everyone else he's told thinks he's making it up, but I don't think he is… I mean, why would he do that?_

 _I hope nothing like that has happened to you!_

 _Write back,_

 _Charlie_

'Wow,' Louis shook his head as Nathan finished retelling his friend's story. 'Nothing like that, just Veela and Fire Crabs,' he smiled, wryly. 'Do you think he'd believe you about that?'

'I'm not telling him,' Nathan shivered, nervously. 'I'm glad they're alright,' he grimaced, 'but what about the van? Isn't that weird?'

'I don't think it's weird at all,' Albus shrugged. 'Not if Dan's friend was the only one who escaped and never went back.'


	16. Coincidences and Consequences

'What?' Nathan asked, surprise in his voice. 'Why does it matter if Dan's friend never went back? How would that change his memory?'

'Because,' Albus spoke slowly, 'it would mean the Obliviators never knew he was there.'

Daniel's mouth dropped open. 'Al… You don't think…' He stuttered. 'You don't think that this was magic?'

'What did he say was on the side of the van?' Albus prompted his friend to check the letter again.

Daniel's eyes scanned the paper in front of him. 'Just Like Magic,' he read. 'Bloody hell…'

'It's like the Ilfracombe Incident, right?' Louis referred to a famous breach of the Statute of Secrecy that they had covered in History of Magic the previous morning. 'Not every muggle who saw the dragon got a memory charm, but that didn't matter, because no one believed them anyway.'

'So Connor won't get into trouble?' Daniel worried about his friend.

'He shouldn't do,' Louis shook his head. 'Unless he goes looking for it.'

'Oh, God,' Daniel groaned. 'Our teacher always said that was the only thing me and him were any good at…'

'Come on, mate,' Albus tried to reassure his friend. 'You're just thinking the worst now… and anyway, what are the chances of a muggle finding anything to do with magic, even if they go out looking for it? Then, if it's happened once, what are the chances of it happening _again_?'

Daniel shrugged. 'It already has, though, hasn't it? To Connor, and then to Nat's mate… Charlie?' The other muggle-born nodded, confirming his friend's name. 'First having us coming up here, and now this. Is that a coincidence?'

'It's got to be a coincidence,' Albus swallowed, realising that his housemates were all gazing at him. 'Hasn't it?'

'Has it?' Louis threw his cousin's words back at him. 'Why? That's what Professor Kennedy always tells us to ask.'

Albus shook his head. 'I… I don't know,' he sighed, his confidence evaporating. 'Merlin…'

'Should we tell anyone?' Nathan was still clutching the contents of his own envelope, having re-read the letter twice more to himself.

'Who?' Louis answered one question with another for the second time in as many moments. 'If Al's right, and Connor should have been Obliviated, what happens then? Will they tell? And what do we write back? It was easy enough last time, but what can we say this time without breaking the Statute?' He shuddered. 'I can tell you one thing for certain, though… Miranda Skeeter must _not_ find out.'

The other first-years nodded unanimously.

'What about the other Ravenclaws, though?' Nathan changed the subject subtly.

'Xan and Toby?' Albus clarified.

Nathan nodded.

Albus glanced from Nathan to Louis and then to Daniel. 'Do we trust them?'

'Yes,' Louis answered, adamantly. 'They stuck up for me at the start, when… when,' he lowered his voice to a whisper, 'you didn't.'

Albus looked away from his cousin, suddenly feeling a great deal more self-conscious. 'That's a good enough reason for me,' he acknowledged. 'Should we tell them in Transfig?'

Daniel shook his head. 'Afterwards,' he asserted. 'It's too easy for someone else to hear in a lesson.'

'So, chaps, we've all more or less got that first spell going by now, which is great to see. Your homework is six inches of parchment – what single thing has made the most difference to mastering this Transfiguration for _you_?' Professor Bennett clapped his hands together, emphasising the final word of his instructions. 'This is quite a personal question, so I won't be impressed if your answer happens to be the same as your best friend's! See you next week… Oh,' he grinned, 'remember PIES!'

The classroom descended into a chorus of groans as the children headed towards the door, going their separate ways towards tower or dungeon. 'Hey, Xan?' Louis caught his friend as the Ravenclaw stood up from the seat behind him, and lowered his voice. 'There's something we need to tell you.' The redhead glanced around, noticing that Albus had finished a similar conversation with Toby Stretton, and led the other boy across the classroom to join the rest of his friends.

'You don't believe in coincidences, do you, Xan?' Daniel began, provocatively, as the first-years tracked down an empty room, just down the corridor from Greg's classroom.

Alexander swallowed. 'I, well, er,' he recalled the previous day's History lesson, where Professor Kennedy had asked an almost-identical question. 'Not really,' he took a breath. 'No.'

'Me neither,' Daniel nodded. 'So I wondered what you'd think of _this_ …' The muggle-born boy unfolded the letter he'd received that morning, and presented it to the black-haired Ravenclaw, whose mouth fell open as soon as his eyes reached the end of the first paragraph.

'Wow,' he stuttered, pushing the paper towards Toby's hands so that his best friend could read its contents. 'Just… wow.'

Toby echoed his friend's surprise. 'Is this for real?'

'Yes,' Nathan confirmed. 'It must be. Charlie wrote to me saying the same thing.'

The Ravenclaw boy exhaled. 'Have you told any of the teachers?'

'No,' Albus shook his head, decisively. 'Do you think we should?'

Toby hesitated. 'Well…' He glanced to his housemate, who shrugged his shoulders.

'What would they say if we told them?'

'They'd Obliviate Connor, wouldn't they?' Louis repeated the theory he'd shared with the other Slytherins at breakfast.

'Well…' Alexander grimaced. ' _If_ that's what happened to all the others, to those from your school, Nathan, then you'd guess yeah, they'd have to.'

'Then we're not telling,' Daniel insisted. 'I don't want anyone messing with Connor, not if I can help it!'

Albus nodded. 'Okay,' he acknowledged. 'Does anyone think we should tell?' The boy glanced around his friends, giving them a moment to argue, but none did. 'So we keep it a secret, then,' he concluded, to a murmur of agreement from the other boys.

'What do we say to _them_ , though?' Nathan asked. 'When we write back?'

'We do what Professor Bennett said,' Daniel asserted. 'We make sure we're careful with the truth.'

'Alright,' Nathan agreed, sighing. 'Oh, I wish we could see the muggle newspapers,' he thought out loud, 'then we'd at least know what was happening.'

Alexander raised his eyebrows. 'Would you?'

'What?'

'Do we know what's going on in the wizarding world because we read the Prophet?' Alexander challenged the Slytherin, but it was one of the blond boy's housemates who answered.

'No!' Louis snapped. 'We just know whatever the writer thinks, no matter how much of an idiot they are!'

'Or whatever the government will let them know,' the Ravenclaw added to Louis' criticism of the newspaper.

'It's still better than nothing, isn't it?' Nathan queried. 'Isn't it?

Albus shrugged. 'Do you think Professor Smith might get some for Muggle Studies?

'She might,' Alexander nodded. 'Or maybe Katie Shawcross, she takes our study lessons, and she's in Ravenclaw. I'll find out.'

'I guess we shouldn't worry about it too much, right?' Louis thought out loud as the first-years headed back to the Slytherin common room. 'I mean, there's nothing we can do about it now, is there?'

'Isn't that why we should worry?' Nathan countered. 'Cause we can't do anything about it?'

'Maybe,' Albus interrupted, 'but haven't we got enough to be worrying about here already?' He followed the blond boy in through the marble doorway, only to freeze as he heard one of his friends' names yelled aloud.

'Louis Weasley?' An unfamiliar voice echoed from the corridor of dormitories on the floor below the common room. 'That little ginger freak in the first year? Do you _really_ want him in the team?'

'Look, Amy,' the first-years heard Sammy Kerrigan trying to argue back. 'I'm not going to let you blackmail me. Max is the A-Team seeker, end of story. I want you to play for the Bs, and if anything happens to him…'

The girl snorted. 'This is my last year here, Kerrigan, and I'm not playing reserves,' she shot back. 'You either you pick me in the A-Team, or you don't pick me at all, and you get stuck with a little runt in the first-year.'

'I guess I'll take my chances with the first-year, thanks,' the Quidditch captain shot back, and the boys heard the slam of a bedroom door fade into the sound of footfall on the spiral stairs. 'Oh,' Sammy forced a smile onto his face as he met the group of eleven-year-olds. 'Hey, guys.' He stalled. 'How are you?'

Louis glared stonily back at the older boy. 'I heard everything,' he fought to keep his voice steady before dropping his shoulder into the seventh-year's body as he tried to force his way down the staircase.

'Louis…' Sammy pleaded, collaring the eleven-year-old as he tried to push his way past.

'No!' The redhead snapped, his composure disintegrating as his eyes began to water. 'Fuck off! Let me go!' He struggled against the seventh-year's grasp.

Sammy shook his head. 'Look, mate,' he reasoned, 'I know you've had a tough time of it this week, but… with respect, mate… you _didn't_ hear everything, and you deserve to know the whole story.' Sammy felt the first-year relax. 'Will you let me tell you?''

'Alright,' Louis sniffed as the older boy loosened his grip, stumbling as he regained his balance.

'Thank you,' the captain acknowledged, gently leading the eleven-year-old towards one of the black sofas in the nearest corner of the common room. 'You're going to be the B-Team seeker,' Sammy explained, 'because I think you're a fantastic flier, and you're going to be an incredible Quidditch player when you're older.' He paused, waiting for the first-year to respond.

'So… so… if you think that…' Louis stuttered. 'Then why…'

Sammy placed a hand on the younger boy's shoulder. 'That was Amy Donovan,' he sighed. 'She's been on the B-Team for the last two, three years, first behind Ben Thackeray, and then Max jumped the queue. I thought I owed her an explanation… but she didn't want to hear it.'

The first-year swallowed. 'Do you think I'm a little ginger freak?' He looked down at his feet as he asked the question.

'Louis…' Sammy pulled the first-year closer.

'You didn't say anything when she called me it,' the boy shivered, 'and I thought, I thought…'

Sammy shook his head. 'Some people just aren't worth arguing with,' the captain concluded. 'If you know they're wrong, why waste your breath?'

'Like Miranda,' Daniel interrupted, coldly.

Louis managed a weak smile.

'You didn't really think that was what I thought, did you?' Sammy ruffled the younger boy's hair, even as the redhead blushed. 'Oh, mate…'

'Sorry,' the eleven-year-old mumbled. 'I didn't… '

'How about you stop worrying about it then, hey?' Sammy grinned as the first-year reddened further and his friends shared a laugh. 'She's not worth bothering with!'

'It's like you just said,' Albus pointed out. 'There's nothing you can do about, so why are you worrying?'

Louis snorted.

'Sounds like good advice to me,' the captain smiled. 'See you at the practice tonight,' he nodded to the other first-years, 'and you guys are always welcome, too. Someone's got to take over when you're seniors.'

'Wonder if there's anything worth reading in today's Prophet?' Daniel asked as a copy of the newspaper landed on the Slytherins' breakfast table on Friday morning.

'I doubt it,' Albus rolled his eyes, reaching for the tabloid. 'Let's have a look.'

 ** _TELL US THE TRUTH!_**

 _News emerged on Thursday afternoon that the Ministry of Magic are aware of a potential wizarding involvement in the series of explosions that struck the centre of muggle Oxford last Saturday morning._

 _Reporters at your_ Daily Prophet _were aware of the incidents within minutes, but after receiving advice from a number of Ministry officials, we were assured that the bombs were of a strictly muggle nature, and we took the decision not to print the story to avoid worrying our readers unnecessarily._

 _Since the weekend, however,_ Prophet _sources have confirmed that Ministry investigators are pursuing links between the Oxford bombings and the muggles arrested at the Leaky Cauldron two weeks ago – another incident that the Ministry of Magic did not want you to know about._

 _Coming hot on the heels of the Ministry's attempt to conceal the presence of a potentially dangerous part-Veela boy in the first year at Hogwarts – a story on which there has still been no further comment from the government, despite the_ Prophet's _concerns – this is another chapter in an episode that raises more questions than answers about the Ministry's fitness for office._

 _Why is this news being concealed from us? To pretend that these problems do not exist, or to paint the government in an exalted light if and when an "unexpected" solution might be found? Or perhaps there is a more sinister explanation? These are all questions that, right now, none of us at the Prophet can answer. So, to put things very simply, Minister, WHY WON'T YOU TELL US THE TRUTH?_

'Shit,' Daniel murmured. 'It sounds like you were right all along, Al.'

Albus shook his head. 'I bet it's all crap,' he dismissed the story, 'it's even going on about Louis being a Veela again – I mean, what's that got to do with the Oxford bombs?'

'They never said it did,' Nathan observed, quietly. 'They only mentioned that cause it's something else they think the Ministry should have told them about,' he swallowed, glancing to his friend. 'Sorry, Louis…'

'They're just idiots,' the redhead snapped. 'This is nothing to do with me! They're just trying to make people panic…'

'…and buy more papers,' Albus concluded, cynically.

'Which will make them panic some more,' Nathan noticed where his friends' line of reasoning was headed.

Daniel rolled his eyes. 'So then they buy more papers… and so on, and so on.'

'What does it tell us that's new, though?' Albus re-read the article. 'That, _apparently_ , there's some link between a muggle being in the Leaky Cauldron, and a wizard having _something_ to do with these explosions in Oxford?'

' _Apparently_ ,' Louis condensed his cousin's summary into a single word. 'Like you said, it's not even a story,' he sighed. 'All it tells us for sure is that Connor's telling the truth.

'Do you think he's safe?' Daniel worried about his old friend. 'If the people in the van found out that he was, like, a witness?'

Nathan bit his lip. 'How would they find out?' He thought out loud. 'And anyway, like Louis said, no-one believes him about the van anyway.'

'I suppose,' Daniel nodded. 'We just better make sure nobody sees his letters.'

The final period on Friday afternoon's timetable was a Defence Against the Dark Arts study lesson, another class that was shared between Ravenclaw and Slytherin, and one which – on this particular Friday – was allowing for a good deal of inter-House conversation.

As part of a practical revision of the simple 'Expelliarmus' and 'Protego' spells, the seventh-year student in charge of the class was arranging a series of mock duels, in which pairs of children attempted to disarm one another. As the lesson progressed, it became clear that the best duellists were Scorpius Malfoy and, to the Slytherins' obvious displeasure, Miranda Skeeter.

'Bloody hell, he's quick,' Felix Ashworth, the other first-year boy in the bronze and blue House, shook his head in a mixture of disbelief and admiration as he stumbled back to his housemates, having been summarily disarmed, and knocked to the floor, by the blond-haired boy. 'Strong, too,' Felix exclaimed, rubbing the part of his ribcage on which he'd landed.

'Unlucky,' Daniel acknowledged the other boy, as the seventh-year boy called the next pair of duellists to the stage. 'I hope he does the same thing to Skeeter, though.'

Felix winced. 'Me too,' he whispered. 'Me too.'

'On 3… 2… 1…'

'Expelliarmus!' Scorpius, as Felix had observed, was the quickest to his spell, but Miranda was ready.

'Protego,' she shrieked, as a purple wall shimmered between the two duellists. 'Ha!' The girl turned to face Alexander, who sat alone at one side of the stage, quietly reading a textbook. 'Bombarda! Depulso!' Her spells worked perfectly, triggering a loud – but otherwise redundant – explosion just in front of the boy's chair, before sending his textbook upwards, striking him in the chin and knocking both child and chair over backwards.

Even as an outraged roar began to echo across the classroom, Miranda, now no longer separated from Scorpius by the shield charm, swivelled back to her distracted opponent, whom she disarmed without a second thought.

'I win,' she sneered, as a sycophantic chorus of squeals and cheers brewed from the gaggle of Miranda's friends, drowning out the seventh-year taker's limp protests.

'Miss Skeeter,' he stammered, 'I don't quite think…'

'You don't think what?' She turned on the older boy. 'You said disarm him, what did I do? It's not my fault the little Death Eater wasn't paying attention!' She waved the two wands in the seventh-year's face, oblivious to the fact that Albus had tiptoed around the stage towards Scorpius.

'Take this,' the Slytherin whispered, passing the shorter boy his wand, 'and take her out.'

Scorpius took the wand, a mischievous grin spreading across his pale face, and turned back to face Miranda. 'STUPEFY!' A broad beam of red light burst from Albus' wand, striking Miranda squarely in the shoulder and knocking the girl to the floor.

'Sorry?' Albus called out, over-loud. 'What was that about not paying attention?'

'Mr… Mr Malfoy…' the seventh-year fretted, growing ever more flustered as the Ravenclaw girls clustered hysterically around Miranda's motionless form. 'That is… you… you can't… you can't attack another student! Detention!'

'Fine,' Albus answered for the Ravenclaw, 'but it was my wand, so you'll have to put me in with him!'

The seventh-year's face burned a fierce red 'Mr Potter! _Double_ Detention! Lesson over! _GET OUT!_ '

'Whatever,' the first-year held an impassive stare. 'It was worth it. Come on, Scorpius.' He turned around, shepherding the other boy towards the classroom door as the other boys hurried to follow their housemates, Toby helping Alexander to his feet along the way.

Louis was the first to catch his cousin. 'Al,' he exclaimed, breathlessly. 'That was awesome!'

'No,' the other Slytherin corrected him, dropping an arm around Scorpius' shoulders. ' _He_ was awesome.'

Scorpius blushed as he heard Albus' praise. 'Thank you,' he whispered, 'and you're right. It was worth it.'

'Scorpius!' Toby caught up with the group as they stopped outside the Great Hall. 'I think this is yours,' he held out the blond boy's wand, which was gratefully grabbed by its owner.

'Thank you,' Scorpius repeated.

'No,' Alexander shook his head, feeling the bruise on his chin where the textbook had struck him moments earlier. 'Thank you. She'd have got away with it otherwise.' He took a breath, before pulling a crumpled piece of parchment from his pocket. 'Just a coincidence, she dropped this when you knocked her out.' He turned the paper out, showing the others the green handwriting it contained.

Daniel read the note aloud. 'See if you can get the Veela to attack you. Then we'll have a story. Love, Mum.'

What a bitch!' Louis exclaimed, before exhaling deeply as he felt his nails becoming sharper and his fingers tensing.

'It's okay, Louis,' Nathan grabbed his friend's hand. 'That's not going to happen,' he insisted. 'She's not going to win!'

'Besides,' Albus added, more thoughtfully, 'I _really_ don't think she wants any of the teachers to find out about this,' his green eyes sparkled, 'and I get the feeling she might keep a bit quieter if she finds out we know.' The boy grinned, before changing the subject as he remembered what his friend had originally said. 'Wait a minute, Xan,' he paused, 'I thought you didn't believe in coincidences?'

'That's just it,' the Ravenclaw smiled. 'I don't.'


	17. The Dorset Derby

Whether or not it was a coincidence that Rita Skeeter's callous instructions had fallen into Alexander's hands, Albus' prediction proved correct, and the journalist's daughter – whilst hardly civil – was no longer outwardly hostile to the first-year boys. The story of the confrontation in the Defence lesson had quickly spread across the school, raising the boys' profile amongst all four Houses.

Albus' actions even drew approval from his older brother, who termed the eleven-year-old's bravery his "Gryffindor Streak". James did, however, qualify his praise by reminding Albus that he still held the family record for the earliest detention in a school year, a claim that made Professor Longbottom chuckle as he overheard it amongst the two brothers' banter.

That first detention, assigned by Dylan Jenkins, the Defence Professor, consisted of nothing more than the tedious copying-out of lines that repeated, "I will not attack another student." Whilst monotonous, it did at least allow the eleven-year-old to affirm his friendship with Scorpius Malfoy, as the boys wrote messages to one another on a third sheet of parchment as they completed their lines.

Albus' second punishment was left to his own Head of House, who opted to task the boy with assisting his NEWT students in an additional Transfiguration class one late evening: to do "the incredibly dull bits of this practical that nobody else has the time or inclination to bother with". This was a chore that stretched to fetching and carrying equipment – the summoning charm proving hazardous in a cramped classroom – and cleaning up the mess of experiments gone wrong.

'Albus?' Professor Bennett called the boy over as the seventh-years filed out of the room. 'Thank you for today.'

The boy blinked. 'Sir…?' He stuttered. 'I was in detention?'

The teacher smiled. 'I know that, mate. You were still a great help. Take five points for Slytherin.'

'But…' Albus reddened.

'You stood up for a boy you didn't know,' Greg summarised. 'You might not have picked the best way to do it,' he grinned, 'but you still did it, and when I think about the last time I talked to you, it's such a world away. I'm proud of you, Al.'

The eleven-year old reflected the teacher's smile. 'Thank you, sir,' he beamed.

'No problem,' Greg acknowledged. 'I see you guys have made firm friends with the Ravenclaws,' he observed.

Albus nodded. 'They were the first ones to, to…' he swallowed, realising what he was about to say, before taking a deep breath. 'To stick up for Louis when me and Dan were being idiots.'

'If I hadn't have given you five points just now, I'd be giving you another five for that,' the teacher rested a hand on the boy's shoulder. 'How much have you grown up these last few weeks?' Greg asked, rhetorically.

Albus blushed again. 'Thanks, sir…'

'Just remember,' the man cautioned, 'don't grow up too fast,' he deadpanned. 'Otherwise you won't appreciate just how funny "PIES" is.'

Albus laughed. 'I think it's too late for that, sir!'

With the squabbles of the start of term resolved – or, at least, observing unwritten truces – the first-years attention could turn fully towards their school life, in and out of the classroom. Each of the boys found that different subjects suited their skills and their wands in different ways, and with a little teamwork, all the children were regularly achieving passing grades or better in all of their classes.

As the term wore onwards, and the nights drew in towards Halloween, the school's thoughts began to turn towards Quidditch. The school season would begin at the weekend with the traditional opening fixture between Slytherin and Gryffindor, but before that there was the small matter of the Dorset Derby.

Puddlemere United had played the Wimbourne Wasps on Halloween evening for as long as anybody at Hogwarts, staff or student, could remember, and with the two sides setting the early-season pace in the British and Irish Quidditch League, few Dorset Derbies had been anticipated quite as eagerly.

The Slytherins were no exception, and having settled in to the routine of boarding school life, the Weasley cousins had encouraged enough interest in the two muggle-borns for both Nathan and Daniel to paying close attention to the crackling radio that sat in one corner of the room.

There were, in fact, seven children gathered in the first-years' dormitory – at Professor Bennett's suggestion, the four Ravenclaw boys had been invited into the dungeon for the evening. The only absentee was Louis, for Tuesday night was Slytherin's scheduled practice night, and with the first game of the season only four days away, Sammy had insisted on his whole squad's attendance.

'How come you've brought that massive book with you, Xan?' Nathan teased his friend as the children waited for the pre-game adverts to give way to Dean Thomas' familiar voice.

The black-haired Ravenclaw shrugged. 'You know I don't like Quidditch that much,' he explained, 'and it's really interesting, too; it's all about how people turn out magical or not, and where squibs come from, like what we're doing in History at the minute.'

'Don't let him get started!' Toby, Alexander's housemate and best friend, laughed. 'He goes on about it for hours! He's even started drawing family trees, covered with all sorts of things I don't understand...'

Alexander rolled his eyes. 'I keep telling you, it's easy, everyone gets half their genetics from their mum, and half from their Dad…'

'Hey, Xan, school's finished!' Albus turned up the volume dial on the old radio. 'Quidditch is on!'

'You're listening to the Wizarding Wireless Network – WWN 5 – the home of the British and Irish Quidditch League. I'm sure tonight's game needs no introduction, but I'm paid to do this part of the job, so you're getting one anyway.' The enthusiasm in Dean Thomas' voice drew the attention of all the boys – even Alexander – towards the radio.

'We're live on the Isle of Purbeck for what is, without doubt, the biggest game of the league season so far. The Wimbourne Wasps, arguably the form team of the division with six wins in their last seven games, take the short trip across Dorset to meet their fierce rivals, league leaders Puddlemere United. A win tonight could send the Wasps top of the table for the first time in four years, and with their Champions League campaign in full swing, it's a brave man who'll bet against them.' Dean took a breath. 'Now, the players are ready, the crowd is too, so it's time for me to hand you over to our commentary team of Dan Beretta and Dan Buckley.'

Greg Bennett laughed aloud as the two commentators were introduced to the radio audience. 'They're just the same as ever,' he grinned.

Oliver Wood shook his head in resigned amusement, reaching for a bottle of butterbeer as he settled into a deep recliner near the staffroom bar. 'They were ridiculous,' he recalled. 'Utterly bloody mental. I don't know how you concentrated with them going on and on all the time.'

'I just blocked it out,' Neal Kennedy thought back to his own experience as a player at Hogwarts. 'Like the weather, like the noise of the crowd.'

'Like everything but the snitch,' Greg nodded his agreement. 'Lose concentration on that for one moment and you might just lose the game.'

Wood smirked. 'Not that you did that very often, eh Bennett?'

Greg grinned. 'We won a few games,' he admitted, 'a trophy or two.'

The Quidditch coach sighed. 'I still haven't seen a better team flying here than the seven you could put out in your final year… you could _all_ have turned pro if you'd wanted to.'

Greg paused, quickly counting on his fingers. 'Four out of seven's not bad,' he protested. 'There are other jobs in the world worth doing as well as playing Quidditch, you know.'

'Four?' Wood queried. 'Obviously Zac and Theo are playing tonight, and Morgan's playing for the Catapults, but…'

'Leif,' Greg answered simply. 'Karasjok Kites. He's already played for Iceland.' The Slytherin turned to his fellow Housemaster. 'What about you, Neal?' He challenged, playfully. 'How many of your old team-mates are playing pro?'

Neal frowned. 'Charlie Sullivan's still at the Arrows,' he argued, 'and Tommy Kelly had a couple of years at Falmouth…'

'So one, then?' Greg grinned, before coughing on his own butterbeer as the Ravenclaw hit him with a tickling charm. 'Bloody hell, Neal,' he giggled, 'grow up!'

'You're one to talk,' Wood regarded the squabbling teachers with an expression of utmost mirth. 'Now, both of you, knock it off or you'll find yourselves cleaning cauldrons.'

Neal saluted his colleague deferentially. 'Sorry, sir,' he intoned, releasing Greg from the effects of the charm as he did so, and letting the three adults, like so many other children across the school, listen to the two Dans' analysis of the line-ups.

'Well, Dan,' Beretta began his piece, his voice no less excitable than it had been from the tower of the Hogwarts Pitch during his own schooldays. 'I know the Wasps are hot at the minute, but I just can't see past this United chaser line on home turf. Zakis and Kyle have been playing here on Purbeck for so long I could swear they're almost telepathic, and Zac Davies has slipped into the gap left by Silas Webster's retirement more smoothly than anyone could ever have wished for.'

'Maybe, Dan,' Buckley responded, the Northern vowels that slowed his speech all the more noticeable when paired with his partner's energy, 'but you're forgetting one thing. If there's anyone on the circuit who knows Zac Davies' play well enough to take him out of the game, it's the man with the Wimbourne Wasps' beater jersey on his back, Theo Forrest. Don't forget Forrest went to school with Davies, playing on the same House team for seven years.'

Beretta acknowledged his colleague's point. 'Well said, Dan, well said. But will he be able to put those years of friendship behind him and land the killer blow if his team needs it tonight?'

Greg snorted. 'You can tell he wasn't in our House,' he observed. 'Theo's not going to need any encouraging to take Zac down, you can trust me on that.'

'So you're backing the Wasps tonight, then?' Wood challenged his colleague, and Greg grimaced.

'Not _backing_ them in that I'm going to put money on them against you,' he correctly second-guessed the Quidditch coach's intent, 'but I'm supporting them tonight! Theo's my best mate… and I've lived with him for five years – twelve if you count Hogwarts, too.'

'Fair enough,' Oliver conceded. 'What about you, then, Kennedy?' He turned his attention to the Head of Ravenclaw. 'Where's your money tonight?'

'In my pocket, mate,' Neal grinned. 'I'm just gonna sit here and enjoy the fireworks.'

The commentary for the second period had just begun when Louis Weasley forced his way into the first-years' dormitory with an exhausted groan.

'Louis?' Alexander was the only boy to look up at the redhead's presence. 'You alright?'

Louis grunted an acknowledgement of his friend's concern. 'Need a shower,' he mumbled. 'Can you throw my PJs?'

Alexander complied with the other boy's request, tossing a pair of red and blue shorts across the room, before settling back into his textbook, oblivious to the shouts and cheers that echoed from the wireless, as well as the hiss of running water that droned behind the bathroom door.

'Louis?' The Ravenclaw repeated his wary greeting as his friend returned to the dormitory a handful of minutes later, cagily holding his mud-stained Quidditch robes over his right shoulder.

'What?'

Alexander lowered his textbook, making eye contact with the other boy. 'Good practice?'

'Yes,' Louis answered, gruffly. 'Fine,' he turned away, making to join the crowd around the wireless, only for the robes to catch on the handle of the closing door and fall to the ground.

'Louis!' Alexander shrieked, loudly enough to attract the attention of the other boys, who turned to see a deep gash scored along the redhead's upper arm, and reacted with a chorus of shock, concern and no little bad language.

'Shit, mate,' Albus' exclamation was one of the more restrained responses. 'What happened?'

Louis reddened. 'I'm fine,' he muttered. 'It's just a scratch; I fell off…'

'That's a fucking awful lie, Louis,' Daniel observed, crudely, and the seeker's face fell. 'Who did you think would believe that?'

Louis shook his head, despondently, as his eyes began to rim with tears. 'I don't know…' He spluttered. 'I…'

'Sit down, Louis,' Scorpius stood up, vacating a space on the bed nearest the wireless, and the Slytherin was in no state to disobey the instruction. 'You can't leave it like this,' he concluded quickly, running his eyes up and down his friend's arm. 'Would you mind if I tried cleaning it up? I know a couple of spells…'

The redhead nodded. Nobody had argued with Scorpius over spellwork since his duel with Miranda, and the little Ravenclaw cleared his throat as he lifted his wand.

'Tergeo,' he whispered, holding his wand six inches above Louis' cut and running it slowly along the length of the injury. 'That's better,' he smiled, thinly, as the dried blood along the other boy's arm melted away, leaving only the scar itself. 'Episkey,' Scorpius circled his wand above the Slytherin's arm, before gently touching it against the wound.

Louis screwed up his eyes, wincing with pain as fresh tears escaped from them whilst the cut slowly sealed itself. 'Ow… Ah… Ouch…' He grimaced, struggling to silence himself.

'Sorry,' Scorpius whimpered, stumbling back from the injured boy. 'I'm not good enough yet, I can't always stop it hurting when it heals up,' he blinked, feeling moisture in his own eyes.

Nathan held out an arm, blocking the blond Ravenclaw's untidy stumble. 'That was amazing, Scorp,' he breathed. 'It hurts when you wash a cut, doesn't it, so healing it like this must hurt a bit…'

Louis exhaled sharply, forcing a deep breath as he forced his eyes shut. 'It's fine,' he insisted, clenching his fist as the last traces of the injury faded away. 'Episkey always hurts when my Mum does it.' The redhead shuddered. 'Thank you, Scorpius,' he smiled, weakly.

'Yeah,' Albus agreed, 'that was incredible.'

'How did you learn it?' Felix Ashworth had watched the whole process with rapt attention.

The blond boy shrugged. 'Same way I learnt the other spells,' he looked down. 'I read about them, then I had lots of practice…'

'But when…?' Felix pestered.

Scorpius looked sharply up at his housemate. 'I didn't have many friends, alright?'

Felix swallowed, abashed. 'Shit,' he mumbled to himself. 'Sorry, Scorp, I… I didn't…'

'It's okay,' Toby talked over the other Ravenclaw. 'You have now, right?'

Scorpius beamed, and Felix let out a quiet sigh of relief.

'Finished?' Daniel interjected. 'Cause there's a Quidditch match on, in case you've all forgotten…' He turned back to the wireless, reaching for the volume dial.

'Ugh,' Louis groaned, 'I've had enough Quidditch for one night,' he watched his friends' attention scoot back across the dormitory towards the radio as his own eyes headed in the opposite direction. 'What are you reading, Xan?' He lowered his voice.

'Stuff…' the Ravenclaw grumbled.

Louis bit his lip, remembering how bluntly he'd shrugged off the other boy's greetings moments before. 'Sorry I sort of ignored you, Xan,' he confessed.

The dark-haired boy brightened. 'That's okay, Louis,' Alexander acknowledged. 'I'm reading about genetics,' he offered, cagily. 'About what happens when you're born, what you get from your Mum and Dad.'

Louis' eyes widened, his interest piqued. 'Like,' he swallowed. 'You mean, like, being half, half…'

'Half-Veela?' Alexander correctly predicted the end of the other boy's question, and the Slytherin nodded, bashfully. 'Yeah.' The Ravenclaw took a deep breath, flicking back a few pages in the textbook as he strove to find an explanation for his friend.

'We're all made up of something called DNA,' he began. 'You get half of it from your Mum, and half from your Dad. One part of your DNA, called a chromosome, decides what sex you're going to be, boy or girl. All girls are XX, and all boys are XY. Like I said, you get half from your Mum, so that's always an X, and half from your Dad, so that's X or Y, and that decides if you're a girl or a boy.'

Louis nodded, guardedly. 'I think I get it,' he pronounced, 'but what's that got to do with Veelas?'

Alexander flicked forwards a couple of pages in the book. 'Well, what they think is that Veela chromosomes are special. They can either be VV, which is a full Veela, or VX, which is half-Veela.'

'But my Mum's quarter-Veela…' Louis began to protest, but the Ravenclaw cut him off.

'She can't be,' he observed, coolly. 'Her Mum must have given her a V, and her Dad must have given her an X – so she's VX, half-Veela.'

Louis blinked, staring at the diagram on the pages in front of him. 'Um,' he swallowed, 'I guess that makes sense,' he theorised. 'She's got the same powers as Grandma…'

'What about your sisters?' Alexander pressed. 'Are they the same too?'

Louis nodded. 'So they must be half-Veela, too?'

'Yeah,' Alexander agreed.

'What about boys, though?' Louis grew more interested. 'What does it say about them,' he corrected himself, 'about us?'

Alexander grimaced. 'Well…' he began, only for a huge explosion of sound to echo from the wireless in the corner of the room, and cut his explanation short.

'What the fuck?' Daniel swore badly, suddenly panicking as the familiar commentary fell silent. 'What the fuck was that?'

Across the corridors of the school, the staffroom had also fallen completely silent, except for the now-redundant hiss from the otherwise voiceless radio set.

Greg swallowed, feeling his mouth drying out, and hastily grabbed for his butterbeer. 'Please tell me that wasn't what I think it was,' he stammered.

Neal glanced hurriedly towards Oliver, who shook his head. 'I think we all know what that was, Greg,' he reasoned. 'I'm sorry…'

'Fuck!' The Slytherin lashed out, bringing his fist crashing down on the arm of his chair as he swore, loudly, before taking a deep breath as he gathered his composure. 'We need to go to our Houses,' he announced. 'Imagine how many of them were listening to that,' he shuddered, 'and how many of them have got family there. Now imagine…'

Neal cut his colleague off, mid-sentence. 'Okay, mate,' he nodded, 'we get the picture. Come on,' he flicked his wand towards the staffroom wireless, silencing its hiss. 'No time to lose.'

'Well said,' Oliver roused himself, regarding the Slytherin teacher with a stunned gaze, 'but what about Theo, and…'

'They can look after themselves,' Greg declared, getting to his feet. 'It might be the Gryffindor thing to do to go rushing in, but as a Slytherin I've kind of figured out that Apparating into the middle of what's probably a mass panic is not the smartest idea in the world.'

Oliver nodded, abashed. 'Sound advice, mate,' he acknowledged. 'Just what I wanted to tell the little lions when they demand to _do something_ about it,' the Gryffindor managed a thin smile.

Greg looked back at his colleague, incredulous. ' _Sure_ , Oliver,' he smirked, struggling to contain a giggle. 'Glad to be of assistance.'

It took the Head of House less than three minutes to skirt the perimeter corridor of the castle and twist down towards the dungeon passageway. 'Kingskerswell,' he held his wand against the marble wall, bracing himself for the anarchy that he knew would almost certainly lie behind. What he hadn't expected was for his entrance to be greeted by a wall of wands.

'Professor…?' Sammy stuttered, glancing quickly to his left and right to check that his fellow seventh-years still flanked him. 'Carl, Ollie,' he commanded his Quidditch team mates. 'Don't lower your wands.'

'What?' Ollie Marsh, the blond keeper gasped. 'Are you mad?'

'Just do it,' Sammy snapped, and the other boy was too stunned to argue back. 'Professor,' the captain dwelt on the man's title. 'Focus, Understanding, Concentration…'

Greg's eyes widened. 'Knowledge,' he answered the teenager's riddle, and watched in impressed relief as the seventh-year lowered his wand. 'Well done, Sam,' he nodded, aware that the common room had fallen silent.

'Thank you, sir,' the boy mumbled, his earlier confidence seemingly having evaporated.

'Sorry,' Ollie Marsh interrupted, still unsure whether or not his wand ought to be raised, 'but can somebody please explain to me what the bloody hell is going on?'

The professor allowed himself a smile. 'Mr Kerrigan was making sure I was who I claimed to be,' he explained, 'and fair enough, I'd say, as I assume most of you have just been listening to the Quidditch on WWN.' A quiet murmur of agreement rippled through the common room. 'Well done,' the man repeated. 'Twenty points to Slytherin,' Greg took a deep breath, calming himself as his eyes darted around the room, 'and time for a House meeting too, don't you think?'

The professor took his chance to drop onto the nearest sofa as he watched a handful of prefects head for the spiral staircase to flush out any children who remained below. 'Sam,' he called, quietly, beckoning the seventh-year towards him. 'I had expected chaos,' Greg confessed.

The boy smiled, thinly. 'We're Slytherin,' he offered. 'We don't do chaos. It's Weasley and Jenkins who've got problems.'

The teacher nodded, approvingly, the shadow of a grin crossing his lips. 'I see I needn't have worried.'

'We sort of get used to looking after ourselves down here, sir,' Sammy began, only for Greg to cut him off.

'I know that, mate,' he acknowledged. 'I know that as well as anyone.'

'Oh,' the seventh-year's head dropped. 'I'm sorry, sir, I forgot…'

'It's why we end up Sticking Together,' it was clear to the boy listening that the man's last two words would have been written with capitals, 'and I'm proud of it.' Greg clapped a strong arm across the seventh-year's shoulders, unconcerned by the fact that the boy was now taller than him, and got to his feet as one of the prefects ushered the last of the stragglers up the staircase.

'Evening, all,' the teacher addressed the impromptu gathering. 'Ravenclaws?' He acknowledged the four first-year boys, huddled nervously together amidst their Slytherin friends. 'I can promise you chaps this doesn't happen every night down here.' He smiled as he watched the blue-clad children relax at his remark, and took a step backwards so that he could view the whole common room. 'Now,' his voice grew more serious. 'I trust you've all worked out why we're here. _Something_ has happened in Dorset, at the Puddlemere-Wimbourne Quidditch match. I don't know what. You don't know what.' He paused, expecting a whisper of conspiracies, before reminding himself that his House were unlikely to jump to conclusions without any evidence.

'I do know, however,' he continued, 'that whatever has happened, that Aurors and Healers will now be there, and that if anyone's family – or friends,' the man faltered briefly, 'have been affected, then you will know the details as soon as it is feasible for us to allow it.' He stopped short of any further promises, unwilling to lie and equally positive that the Slytherins would fully appreciate his choice of words. 'Congratulations on your calm behaviour this evening,' he changed the subject subtly. 'You have made my job very easy,' he smiled. 'Now, I will be here for the next hour or so in case there are any further… developments… or if anyone wishes to talk. Perhaps it would be a good idea to see if the wireless is back on?'


	18. Black Swans

_17_ _ **Black Swans**_

It came as little surprise to anyone but the most inattentive student that the following morning's arrival of owls amidst the breakfast tables was a good deal busier – and noisier – than a typical daily delivery. The bustle was of little interest to the four first-year Slytherins, but the content of the front page of the _Daily Prophet_ definitely was.

 **DISORDER DOWNS DORSET DERBY**

 _Last night's table-topping British and Irish Quidditch League fixture between Puddlemere United and the Wimbourne Wasps was abandoned midway through the second period, following a co-ordinated terrorist attack consisting of a number of loud explosions and smoke bombs._ Benedict Bryant _was covering the game for the_ Daily Prophet.

 _Puddlemere were leading, 130-100, when the first of the blasts went off, 25 minutes after the interval. WWN's live commentary was knocked off the air, and the Martyrs Stadium was plunged into pitch darkness for a handful of seconds. The blackout did not last for long, but the combination of several hundred Lumos spells that followed allowed the gathered crowd to see a series of blasts that shook the arena. Each explosion appeared to detonate on command, and from beneath a veil of invisibility._

 _The blasts, deafeningly loud in volume, continued for just under a minute, leaving the stadium shrouded in a cloud of thick, white smoke, which hung maliciously in the Dorset air for several minutes until the efforts of the attendant Aurors managed to disperse the fog._

 _Referee Albert Lassiter was left with no option but to abandon the match, a decision that was quite rightly justified by Puddlemere United officials and the British and Irish Quidditch League as having been made with spectator safety in mind._

 _Healers from St Mungo's Hospital have reported that, of the 159 patients admitted following yesterday's fixture, none have life-threatening injuries. 91 people have been treated for the effects of a crush brought on by panic in one of the stands, 67 for smoke inhalation and one for pouring hot chocolate down his front in his excitement at Zac Davies' opening goal. The Ministry of Magic have released a statement that their enquiries are ongoing, and that two men have been arrested in connection with the incident._

'Loud explosions,' Nathan echoed the words he'd read, 'and lots of smoke? Nothing else?' He shuddered. 'That sounds a lot like…'

Daniel completed his friend's sentence. 'Like Oxford,' he exhaled.

'I wonder who the men were?' Nathan thought aloud. 'I mean, if they've caught someone, that'll be it, won't it?'

Albus shook his head, sadly. 'Not if there's someone else behind all this. They could have sent them in to do it, then wiped their memories of everything else.' He shuddered. 'We might just end up with two innocent men in Azkaban.'

Louis sighed. 'You can tell your Dad's the Head Auror,' he observed, sadly, recognising the instant truth in his cousin's analysis.

'So what do we do now, then?' Daniel shivered. 'There's got to be some connection with this and Oxford,' he persisted, 'and that means Connor.'

'It might not,' Albus began to argue, but Nathan cut him off.

' _Coincidence,_ right?' The blond boy rolled his eyes. 'Don't even think about saying it.'

The only lesson that Slytherin and Ravenclaw shared on Wednesdays was the final period of the day, out on the Quidditch pitch. Flying always gave the boys an opportunity to chat, but equally it offered Miranda, and her band of hangers-on, the chance to stir up trouble.

'Hey, snake charmers,' she interrupted the Ravenclaw boys as they joined their Slytherin friends. 'I'd be careful hanging around them if I were you.'

'Fuck off, Skeeter,' Felix snapped back, first, provoking the girl into a typical sneer.

'Ooh,' she taunted. 'Does your mother know you use such horrible language?'

Albus rolled his eyes. 'Does _your_ mother know you're an ugly, scheming, manipulative bitch? Or does she think you take after your dad instead?'

'You want to be careful too, Potter,' she spat, 'if what I've heard is true. Apparently those two people they arrested last night at the Quidditch game… they were muggles,' she leered at Daniel and Nathan, who stared furiously back. 'You might want to keep an eye on them.'

'Fuck you!' Daniel yelled, striding forwards towards the girl. 'Anyway, what about the muggle in your little gang?'

Miranda smirked. 'Oh, she's not like you,' the girl simpered. 'She's got no interest in her dirty old muggle friends any more.'

Daniel's face burned red. 'You can fucking leave Connor out of this, you bitch,' he seethed, 'besides, how the fuck do you know…'

'Who else would write to _you_?' Miranda's eyes sparkled as she turned around, leaving Daniel to hurl the worst swear word he could imagine across the turf at the departing girl.

'Mr Hamilton?' Professor Wood interrupted, arriving on the scene too late to prevent the argument from spiralling out of control. 'You know that language is completely unacceptable, not only here but anywhere. Twenty-five points from Slytherin,' his voice cut coldly across the field, 'and detention.'

Daniel slunk back towards his friends, the flush on his face shifting from anger to embarrassment.

'It's okay, mate,' Louis consoled him. 'I bet she's gonna try doing this to all of us.' He swallowed, turning to face Nathan, pale and shivering despite Toby's efforts to reassure him. 'Ignore her, Nath,' he insisted. 'Even if she's telling the truth, and they are muggles, that doesn't change anything. You stuck with me and I'm gonna stick with you.'

'Thanks, Louis,' Nathan managed a thin smile, noticing that a couple of the other boys had drawn closer to him, 'and everyone.'

Toby nodded, uncomfortably. 'Guys,' he stuttered. 'Do you mind if we come and do our homework in the dungeon tonight?'

Albus grinned. 'Of course you can, mate. Did you think we'd leave you with _her_?'

Greg had tried to floo-call Flint Avenue three times already before his fourth attempt was answered late on that Wednesday evening. 'Theo!' He gasped, sighting his friend as the other man sat, exhausted, on his sofa.

'Greg,' the Quidditch player turned, acknowledging his friend's face. 'How are you?'

The teacher rolled his eyes. 'Mate,' he insisted, 'you know that you shouldn't be the one asking me that question.'

Theo smiled, wanly. 'Well, I just did,' he answered back, 'sir.'

Greg breathed a long sigh of relief. 'I suppose, if you're well enough to take the piss…' He caught himself glaring at his friend as if the other man were a disobedient first-year. 'Can I come in?'

'It's your flat, too,' Theo made no effort to move in acknowledgement, only remembering himself as his housemate clambered through the fireplace and slowly struggling upwards.

'Sit down,' Greg ordered, lapsing again into tone of voice more suited to the classroom, and readying himself for the sarcastic reply.

'Yes, sir,' Theo muttered.

Greg smirked, deciding to carry on the charade. 'You had better watch your tongue, Mr Forrest, or you'll find yourself in a great deal of trouble, young man.'

Theo snorted a laugh. 'But sir…' He whined.

'But nothing,' Greg cut him off. 'You need to learn to do what you're told. Now sit there, whilst I sort us out a nice big curry, and you tell me exactly what happened last night…'

'Yes, sir.' Theo added one last smart remark, before letting go of the illusion of the role-play. 'It was fucking mental…' he sighed, aloud. 'It was like everything just stopped in the moment when the first bomb exploded. The crowd started screaming, louder and louder as the rest of them went off, even after people started lighting their wands.' He took a deep breath, steadying himself. 'One of the Puddlemere players, I think it was Barry Kyle, realised that a load of kids were getting squashed up against the front of one the stands, so we all ended up flying across the stadium, helping them out and hoping we got there before anyone was crushed.' The man shuddered, shutting his eyes.

Greg shook his head, struggling to come to terms with his friend's version of events. 'Mate,' he sympathised. 'That's awful.'

Theo grunted. 'It was worse than our first-year,' he confessed, candidly. 'When the Hunt came back, and tried to take Josh away, and Glyn did the bloodline thing… it was worse than all of that.' His sentences began to hurry. 'That all just happened, almost without thinking about it. This just seemed much more… much more _real_.'

'Bloody hell,' Greg found himself able to do little more than swear in response.

'Then I had to give a witness account to the Aurors… twice… avoid the media trying to scavenge an interview from someone, and try and fit in time for a warm-down…'

'When did you get back?'

'Three o'clock,' Theo answered , simply. 'Then up at seven again for a full day's training.'

Greg nodded, understandingly. 'Explains why you're knackered then, mate,' he concluded. 'and I don't blame you for it… Incendio!' A flame flickered into light beneath a wide, red wok. 'Give that fifteen minutes, and a little bit of self-stirring spoon action, and we'll be away.'

'Thanks, mate,' Theo acknowledged. 'So how are your little snakes getting on?' He changed the subject, and Greg took the hint that the previous night's game was off-limits as far as the rest of the evening's conversation went.

'Not too bad, actually,' the teacher answered. 'I went down to the dungeon last night, expecting chaos, and I got the opposite,' he recalled. 'Three seventh-years with drawn wands insisting on checking I was who I said I was. Remember Sammy Kerrigan? Our little mascot when we were seventh-years? He was behind it all.'

Theo whistled. 'Not bad,' he conceded. 'I remember Sammy being so excited even to help collect loose quaffles at training that you didn't have the heart to Accio them all in…'

Greg laughed. 'I'll remind him of that, I think. He's Quidditch captain, now, as well.' His tone darkened. 'Sadly, Dan lost us all the points we'd gained this afternoon,' he sighed, repeating the insult that the boy had used. 'As much as Miranda Skeeter… yes, _her_ daughter… deserved it, I swear I never knew that word when I was a first-year.'

'You never grew up with a mother who hated your very existence, though, did you?' Theo's voice quietened even as he spoke. 'You can't make him stay at that Castle all holiday, Greg. We'll have him here again if we need to.'

The teacher nodded, simply. 'I don't know if it's gonna be as simple as that, mate,' he speculated, 'but thanks for the thoughts.'

'No worries,' Theo acknowledged. 'How's his Quidditch coming on?''

Greg shrugged. 'Alright, I think,' he offered. 'Not on any of the House teams, but that's no surprise for first-years, is it?'

Theo smirked. 'Not any more.'

'Louis Weasley's made the B-Team, mind,' Greg continued. 'First games of the season this weekend, too. _Gryffindor_.'

'Any spare tickets going?' Theo raised an eyebrow, and Greg blinked back in surprise.

'Haven't you got a match?'

Theo shook his head. 'Not since about four o'clock,' he revealed. 'Whole league's off this weekend, after, well…'

'I get it,' Greg stopped his friend from having to relive the events of the previous evening again, 'and there's always a spare ticket for a Quidditch star.'

'Thanks for helping me out with this, Xan,' Louis murmured, gazing down at the pages of a Charms textbook.

Alexander smiled. 'That's okay, mate,' he nodded. 'It's not like I was going to do anything else tonight, anyway, everyone else is just going to talk Quidditch non-stop.'

'Yeah,' the redhead mumbled. 'Quidditch. The reason I've not done any of my homework this week.' He shivered, stifling a yawn.

'I guess this is why they never used to let first-years play,' the Ravenclaw suggested, and his friend didn't argue.

'I guess,' Louis echoed, struggling to focus on a page discussing the differences between the Hover and Levitation Charms. 'How come _I_ can fly, but I can't get a stupid feather to?'

Alexander smiled, gently. 'Why don't you imagine it's a broom? Try and think like you do when you're flying?'

The Slytherin shrugged, gazing doubtfully back at the other boy. 'You're serious?'

'Why not?' Alexander swallowed, brushing his long fringe of dark hair out of his eyes. 'I mean,' he justified his suggestion, 'it's not like anything you've tried yet has worked, is it?'

Louis winced. 'No,' he brushed the back of his wrist across his face, turning away from his friend.

'Come on, mate,' the Ravenclaw urged. 'Give it a try. What have you got to lose?'

'Alright,' the redhead gritted his teeth, lifting his wand and angling it towards the single feather that sat on the desk in front of him. 'Wingardium Leviosa,' he intoned, only to see the feather roll over limply.

'Try again,' Alexander encouraged him. 'Remember, think like you're on the broom, think about kicking off the ground when you do the flick.'

Louis nodded, shutting his eyes and taking a deep breath. 'Wingardium _Leviosa!_ '

'Louis!' The Ravenclaw let out an excited yelp. 'You're doing it, you're doing it!'

'Really?' He opened his eyes, gasping in surprise, and clutching his wand with both hands as the feather floated unsteadily in mid-air. 'Wow!' He hesitated as it wobbled for a moment, but steeled himself to redouble his effort and watch with pride as it edged further upwards. 'Thanks, Xan!' The eleven-year-old beamed.

'It's fine,' Alexander acknowledged. 'Well done, mate.' He watched the other boy, concentrating fiercely, guide the feather back down to the low table that sat beside the two friends.

Louis exhaled, happily, a wide grin stretching across his freckled face.

'Hey,' an idea crossed the Ravenclaw boy's mind. 'Do you want to see the rest of that chapter about genetics? You know, the one we were looking at on Tuesday night?'

'Okay,' Louis nodded, obligingly, and Alexander found himself reflecting the other boy's smile.

'Now,' he resumed his explanation from the point where the sound of the bomb blast had interrupted the boys' conversation earlier in the week. 'You would think that when a Veela gives a V chromosome, and a man gives a Y chromosome, then the child would end up being VY.'

'That makes sense,' the Slytherin acknowledged. 'So that's what I am, right?'

Alexander shook his head. 'I doubt it,' he replied, darkly. 'If you were, then it would be simple… and there'd be loads, loads more of you.'

'Oh.' The excitement that had filled Louis following his successful Levitation Charm ebbed away just as quickly. 'So what am I, then?'

'Well,' Alexander felt his throat beginning to dry out. 'That's all that book said,' he frowned. 'It said that VY children don't develop… that the female Veela genes overwhelm the Y chromosome and prevent the embryo from growing at all…'

Louis interrupted. 'What's an embryo?'

'An unborn baby,' Alexander whispered, 'but really, really young… maybe only a day old.'

'Right,' Louis stared pensively into space. 'So what you're saying is that I'm impossible?' His voice grew fiercer. 'That I don't exist? That I _can't_ exist?'

'No!' Alexander snapped. 'Of course I'm not saying that! You're there… you're _here_ , sat in front of me. I just watched you do Wingardium Leviosa!' He paused, feeling his heart thumping against his chest. 'You might, you might just be something that nobody's ever seen before… a black swan.'

Louis bit his lip, forcing himself to hold in the surge of anger that had begun to escape. 'A black swan…?'

Alexander nodded. 'Everybody used to think that all swans were white,' he explained, cautiously. 'Until they discovered Australia, and someone found a black swan there. A black swan is something that no one expects, that no one thought was possible, something that changes everything.' He held his friend's gaze, even as he felt his pulse rushing through his body.

Louis just stared back at the other boy. 'I…' he began, clumsily, only for the hurried opening of the dungeon door to distract him from his scrambled thoughts.

'Louis!' Sammy Kerrigan shouted across the common room. 'Thank Merlin…' he panted. 'I've just seen Bennett… it's Max Deverill… he's had to go home to his family, I don't know why. He can't play tomorrow…'

The first-year blinked. 'So…'

'Louis, you idiot!' Sammy exclaimed, desperately. 'Max is our seeker! You're the reserve!' He took a deep breath, slowing his voice deliberately. 'You've got to play tomorrow.'

'Oh, bloody hell…' the redheaded boy swallowed. 'Are you serious?'

'Of course I'm serious!' The captain barked. 'What do you think this is, some kind of joke?'

Louis shook his head, hurriedly. 'No, sir,' he muttered. 'Sorry, sir.'

Sammy paused. 'You don't need to call me sir, Louis,' he let his voice mellow, 'and I shouldn't have shouted at you. Sorry, mate. I guess this must be a bit of a shock, hey?'

'Yeah,' the eleven-year-old had no option but to agree with the older boy.

'Well, I'm sure you'll do great,' the captain smiled. 'We've got a good record with first-years in the team,' Sammy told him, 'just ask Professor Bennett.' The seventh-year's eyes fell onto the open textbook in front of his seeker. 'Done all your homework?' He asked, forcibly casually, before relaxing as he heard the younger boy's answer. 'Well, I reckon you want a good night's sleep, kid. I'm off to find a seeker for the 'B's…'

Louis turned his head, watching the seventh-year hurry towards the spiral staircase, before shuddering as he turned back to his friend. 'Shit,' he stammered. 'I guess this is one of those black swan things, too.'

Alexander nodded. 'That's just it,' he observed. 'You never know when they're going to come along.'


	19. Pyrrhus of Epirus

_18_ _ **Pyrrhus of Epirus**_

Connor Norris' eyes darted furtively left, and back right, before the eleven-year-old burst into a sprint, vaulting the ticket barriers at the edge of Ascot station and hurrying for the open doors that led out into the car park. His eyes skated around a second time, quickly locating Charlie Riley's outstretched hand, and Connor wasted no time in scurrying over to the other boy.

'Hi, Connor,' Charlie smiled as the shorter of the two children forced a black beanie hat over his floppy blond hair. 'Alright?'

The blond boy nodded, sharply. 'Yeah,' he muttered. 'Come on, let's go!'

Charlie's eyes narrowed, regarding the other boy with suspicion. 'It's not that cold, is it?'

'Shut up,' Connor shot back, heading across the vacant tarmac towards a town he didn't know. 'Come on,' he repeated, urgently.

'What's wrong?' Charlie followed, warily, before quickening his step as he noticed the fluorescent jacket of a station attendant peer out of the double door. 'What did you do?' He caught up with Connor, finding the blond boy hiding behind a brick wall on the corner of the main road.

Connor glared back, coldly. 'What are you talking about?' He challenged the taller boy, holding an unblinking stare.

'I'm not stupid, Connor,' Charlie wasn't cowed by the aggression. 'You can't wait to get away from there,' he lowered his voice, 'and that guy in the yellow jacket was obviously looking for someone.' He swallowed. 'You didn't steal anything, did you?'

Connor snorted. 'Is that what you think of me?' He snarled. 'He's poor, so he must be a thief?'

'I didn't say that…' Charlie began to protest. 'I never even…'

Connor didn't let him finish his sentence. 'It's what you thought, though, isn't it?' He felt his fists balling up, and turned away from the boy whom he hadn't seen in more than a month. 'It's what everyone thinks.'

Charlie sighed. 'Connor…' He offered, limply. 'I don't think that,' he took a deep breath, 'but I do know something's wrong.'

'Why do you care?' The blond boy spoke almost entirely to the cold brick beside him. 'Why do you give a shit what's wrong?'

'Cause I thought we were friends!' Charlie lashed out, shoving the shorter boy away. 'Obviously not, though.' He turned his back, hiding his reddened eyes from Connor as he made his way back into the centre of Ascot.

Connor braced himself, wrapping his arms over his head as he prepared for a second assault, before lowering his hands as he realised it had not arrived. 'Charlie!' He yelled out, watching the other boy's head fade into a crowd of half-term shoppers. dashing after him as he called his name again.

'What?' This time it was the taller of the two eleven-year-olds who snapped a response. 'What do you want now?'

Connor closed the gap between the two children, beckoning the dark-haired boy away from the bustle of the pavement and towards an alleyway that led onto a quieter side street. 'We are friends, aren't we?'

Charlie stared back, open-mouthed, as he watched Connor's skin pale. 'Are we?' He echoed. 'Then why…' He tailed off, suddenly wary of pressing the point that had angered the blond boy just minutes before.

'I didn't pay for a train ticket,' Connor confessed, unprompted. 'That's why. I couldn't afford it, not twenty quid, and the bus doesn't get anywhere near here. It's not stealing,' he panted, his breathing growing shallow. 'I'm not a thief,' he insisted, realising as he uttered the words that he was reassuring himself just as much as he was trying to convince the other boy.

'Connor…' Charlie stammered. 'I… shit,' he shook his head. 'I didn't know,' he whispered. 'I didn't know.'

'Well, you do now,' Connor replied, coughing as he snatched for another quick breath. 'So, are we friends?'

Charlie shivered. 'Do you want to be friends?'

Connor nodded. 'I should have told you,' he mumbled.

'It doesn't matter,' Charlie shook his head. 'It doesn't make a difference.'

'I wish it didn't,' Connor's face paled, 'but it does, really it does.' He glanced up and down the taller boy's neat jacket and new trainers, suddenly feeling all the more aware of his own scuffed shoes and second-hand jeans. 'Sorry.'

'It's fine,' Charlie repeated. 'What matters is we trust each other,' he sighed, 'because, let's face it, no one else does.' He angled his head along the alleyway. 'We can get to my house down here,' he explained, changing the subject.

'Thanks,' Connor acknowledged, clumsily, 'and I am telling the truth about that van, I swear it.'

'I know,' Charlie replied. 'I know.'

The two children made their quiet way through the back streets of Ascot, twisting through leafy lanes and narrow footpaths, linking one empty cul-de-sac with another. Connor forced his hands into the pockets of his jeans as he walked past houses into which his own family's whole terraced block would have fitted twice over, and gardens that reminded him more of Cutteslowe Park than his own yard.

The boys' stroll was interrupted, however, when Connor grabbed his friend on the elbow. 'Stop,' he hissed. 'Look, there.' He pointed over Charlie's shoulder.

'What?'

Connor swallowed. 'It's the van again. There, at the end of the road, near the church.'

Charlie's eyes followed the other boy's outstretched arm. 'Just Like Magic,' he read the gaudy green lettering along its side. 'Just like you said…'

'Yeah,' the blond boy exhaled, biting down on his bottom lip. 'What should we do?'

Charlie looked quickly around. 'There's no one else here,' he observed, 'and it's not like they'd believe us, anyway, if we told anyone.'

'Shall we go and have a look?' Connor thought aloud. 'See if there's anything obvious inside?'

Charlie grimaced. 'I'm not sure that's a good idea,' he argued. 'I mean, what if someone comes out? No one will even know we were here, or what might have happened.'

The blond boy nodded. 'You're right,' he agreed with his friend's statement. 'What if I go and see if I can see anything, and you stay here?'

'No,' Charlie shook his head. 'It's too open,' he gestured towards the wide road. 'If they see you, they'll see me, too. I'm going into the cutting over there, into the trees.' He took a deep breath. 'Be careful, Connor.'

'I will.'

Charlie hastened towards his hiding place, staking out a position tight against a thick tree-trunk. Subtly, he reached for his mobile phone, activating its camera and recording a burst of pictures of the suspicious van. 'Just Like Magic,' he muttered to himself. 'What's that supposed to mean?' He watched, eyes fixed on the black hat on his friend's head, as the blond boy tiptoed up to the van's cab, peering through one of the front windows before edging around to the other side of the vehicle.

'Hey!' A loud yell echoed over the sleepy lane, sending Charlie tumbling down out of sight, into the shelter of the branches. 'You!' It was clearly a man's voice, Charlie realised, worrying about his friend even as he fought to keep his breathing level and avoid betraying his own presence. 'What are you doing?' The voice snarled.

'Me? Nothing.' Connor's feeble answer was as predictable as it was dishonest. 'Just looking,' he snatched at an answer. 'I, um, I…' He stumbled backwards.

'Well you should keep your snotty little nose out, then,' the man sneered. Charlie felt his fists silently clench as he heard the stranger's abuse, before a sudden flash of white light illuminated the end of the street, instantly followed by a dull thud. 'That'll fucking teach you, you dirty little shit.'

Charlie felt his stomach retch, immediately realising what the noise must have been, and his breathing hurriedly quickened as he waited for the gruff roar of the van's diesel engine to signal its departure. Waiting only long enough to be sure that its driver would not see him in his mirrors, Charlie jumped to his feet and scrambled to the aid of his stricken friend.

'Connor!' The eleven-year-old yelled, sliding to his knees beside the other boy. 'Are you alright? What happened? What was that flash of light?'

'Ugh…' the shorter boy rubbed his eyes, groggily. 'What light?' He muttered, struggling to sit up. 'Where am I?'

'North Ascot,' Charlie answered simply, reaching out to support his friend's shoulders.

Connor groaned. 'Charlie…?' He blinked. 'I don't know what happened… I can't remember _anything_ …'

'What about the van?'

'Van?' Connor blanched. 'What van?'

Charlie let out a long, low whistle. 'Shit,' he whispered. 'What van do you think?' He snatched his mobile phone from the pocket of his jacket, thumbing over its screen before holding the most recent picture up for his friend.

'That was _here_?' Connor shuddered. 'Shit,' he echoed his friend's bad language. 'So why don't I remember it?'

'How much _do_ you remember?' The dark-haired boy scanned around the cul-de-sac, suddenly interrupting the other child's answer before it had fully begun. 'Actually, tell me later,' he decided, his voice suddenly serious. 'We need to go, before anyone comes back.'

The Riley family's detached house stood less than a hundred metres away from the road in which the van had been parked, and the children walked the short distance in less than two minutes. Charlie did his best to avoid his friend's gaze, punching in combination of numbers into a keypad and unlocking the front gates that led onto the wide gravel drive.

'This is _your_ house?' Connor asked disbelievingly as the black iron gates slid slowly open. 'So why do you want to be friends with _me_?'

Charlie shivered. 'You really don't remember anything, do you?' His voice barely broke a whisper. 'Come on,' he begged. 'Please.'

Reluctantly, the blond-haired boy followed his darker companion along the driveway and towards the three imposing stories of the red brick structure, through the glass-framed porch and up an angular staircase into Charlie's bedroom.

'This is fucking massive,' Connor observed, tactlessly, settling on the black leather of a swivel chair beside Charlie's desk as the room's owner dropped down onto his bed.

'It doesn't matter,' Charlie shook his head, recalling the awkward stand-off he had endured in the station car park less than an hour earlier. 'What's the last thing you remember happening this morning, Connor?'

'Um,' he shrugged, pulling the beanie hat from his head. 'I don't know,' he muttered. 'I guess it was changing trains at Reading.'

Charlie shut his eyes. 'Oh, God,' he groaned. 'I can't do this again,' he shook his head, before slumping, head first, into his pillow. 'I really can't.'

'You can't what…?'

Charlie grunted. 'We had an argument this morning,' he recalled, his voice cracking as he spoke.

'Really?' Connor's voice dropped. 'Why?

Charlie rolled over. 'Do you trust me?' His voice barely rose above a whisper.

'Yes,' Connor answered, decisively. 'You always believed me about the van in Oxford.'

Charlie nodded, slowly. 'You said that I thought you were a thief, just because you were poor, but I didn't,' his voice tightened. 'I didn't, I never said that. I didn't even know… and I don't care, it doesn't matter…'

Connor shivered. 'Why did I say that?'

'I asked you if you'd stolen something,' Charlie remembered. 'I could tell something was wrong. Someone was looking for you,' he sighed. 'You never paid for your ticket.'

'That's not stealing,' Connor stared at the floor. -'I'm not a thief,' he muttered, hoarsely.

'I know,' Charlie dragged himself to his feet, 'you said that before. I believe you.'

'Did I say anything else?'

Charlie forced a smile. 'That we were friends.'

'Did you believe that?' Connor grimaced.

'Yes,' Charlie swallowed, 'no matter what, because we trust each other.'

Connor managed a thin smile of his own, holding the other boy's gaze for a moment, before nodding his agreement with the dark-haired boy's assertion. 'I guess we found the van after that, right?'

'Yeah,' Charlie echoed, still half-expecting Connor to make another comment about their respective houses. 'You went to go and see if you could find anything, and I hid inside the trees just in case something happened… You were looking through the window, and then I heard a man's voice, shouting at you, then there was a big flash of light… and that's everything.' He tailed off.

'Shit,' the blond boy shook his head. 'It's like Oxford all over again, isn't it? At least we know now that we were right about that,' he sighed. 'I kind of wish we weren't, though.'

Charlie nodded. 'Sometimes winning can be just as bad as losing. Like Pyrrhus.'

Connor stared back at the taller boy. 'Pyrrhus?'

'Pyrrhus of Epirus. We did him in Classics this week,' Charlie explained. 'He fought against the Romans, and even beat them in some battles, but he lost so many men that it meant he lost the war. That's why it's called a Pyrrhic victory, when you win but it's not really worth it.'

'Right,' Connor blinked. 'I don't even do Classics,' he responded, looking around the bedroom as he spoke. 'It's like you live in a totally different world,' he decided, searching to change the subject and lighten the mood. 'I do kind of like your house, though.'

Several hundred miles away, Louis Weasley was also worrying about Houses, but in an altogether different way. He sat stiffly on the wooden benches of the Slytherin changing rooms, trying his best to stifle a yawn. As much as Louis had been desperate to follow his captain's orders overnight, his longed-for good night's sleep had never arrived.

Sammy Kerrigan stood alone, staring fiercely out into the room. 'We've worked for this every week since the summer, and every day this week. We can't let anything get in our way now. Laura, Ella, you're the best in the business. Ollie, you seem like you know where the shots are going before we even take them. Carl, Marius, you're as good as any pair of chasers I've ever played with, and Louis, for a first-year your flying is incredible. We all know our plans. Keep it tight, keep it simple, and then hit them had and fast when we even get half a chance. Louis, don't let Anthony out of your sight. It doesn't matter if you don't get the snitch, just make damn sure that he doesn't!'

Louis nodded, mutely, feeling smaller than he could ever remember.

'Well, this is our chance, then,' the captain exhorted, 'show everyone what we can do today, and let them spend the rest of the year worrying about us. COME ON!' Sammy raised his voice, imploring his team mates to join him on his feet. 'Let's get out there!'

The other three Slytherin first-years got to their feet as they watched their housemate fly into the arena, at the tail end of his team's narrow formation.

'Come on, Louis!' Albus yelled at the top of his voice. 'Come on, Louis!' He grinned as his two friends joined in with the beginnings of a simple chant, before Daniel led a loud cheer as the redheaded boy waved shyly back at the crowd.

'He'll be alright, won't he?' Nathan asked, timidly. 'I mean, no one gets really, _properly_ hurt, do they?'

Albus grimaced, looking around to the pure-blooded and half-blooded Ravenclaws around him. 'Well…' he began, hesitantly. 'Not usually,' he fudged his answer.

Nathan blinked. 'What's that mean?'

'Well,' Albus struggled to word his reply. 'Obviously it's a bit dangerous. If you fall off your broom, or get hit by a bludger, then it's going to hurt, of course it's going to hurt. You saw what happened to Dan, didn't you? He was alright in a couple of days, though, wasn't he? No-one's died playing Quidditch…'

'Not for ages, anyway,' Scorpius interjected.

Toby groaned. 'Really helpful, Scorp.' He rolled his eyes. 'I'm sure he'll be fine,' the tawny-haired boy insisted, noting Nathan's nervous face.

The blond boy nodded, obviously unconvinced by the others' flimsy reassurances as he watched Louis join his teammates in surrounding the centre circle. 'I hope so,' he muttered. 'I hope so.'

Nathan had no further time to worry in quiet, however, as the magnified voice of a seventh-year boy echoed around the ground. 'The quaffle's up, and the 2018 Quidditch Cup is underway!' The commentator took a deep breath, before launching himself into his task once more. 'I'm Joe Warnock, and, as always, it'll be Slytherin and Gryffindor who start proceedings. They were second and third last year, but with Ravenclaw losing five of their title-winning team, this is a game that's already being billed as a potential title decider. Both squads are full of experienced faces, with one exception: Max Deverill is missing for Slytherin, and in his place the snakes will give a debut to Louis Weasley, rather than long-time number two Amy Donovan…'

'Because Donovan's a stupid bitch,' Daniel commented. 'She'd have been playing if she hadn't have been too proud to be the reserve.'

'Of course, everybody needs to start somewhere,' the commentator continued, 'and for Weasley, it all starts here.'

'Well, I suppose it's impossible for every game to be a classic,' Joe remarked, acidly, as Professor Wood's whistle signalled the end of the second period, 'but it would be nice if we could get through more than two minutes without a stoppage.'

'At least we're winning,' Daniel noted.

Albus shrugged. 'It's a crap game, though,' he shook his head. 'It doesn't even look like Louis is trying to get the snitch!'

The dark-haired boy's body language was obvious to his cousin as the seeker glanced across the pitch towards the stands, and the redhead sighed. Slytherin were leading, 110 points to 80, but Louis didn't think he'd been within twenty yards of the snitch. The commentator had hardly exaggerated the extent of the foul count, either, and the first-year knew he'd been responsible for more than his fair share.

Sammy's team talk was brief, and all that the first-year could recall as he watched Professor Wood start the final period was his captain's insistence that his side shouldn't give the opposition even the smallest opportunity to get back into the game.

'Half a chance for Gryffindor…' Joe Warnock's voice rose in anticipation as a red-robed player streaked forward, 'but Jennings cuts him off, and Rosier's there with the bludger. No way past.' A collective groan from the crowd followed the dead-pan description of the end of Gryffindor's attack. 'Still thirty points in it, Slytherin with the lead… but Brett Anthony's on the move… and…'

The shrill blast of Wood's whistle cut off the commentator mid-stream. 'Blatching. Louis Weasley. Penalty to Gryffindor.'

Louis hung his head as a echo of boos reverberated around the stadium, knowing full well that the supporters' ire was directed at him.

'Ignore them, kid,' Carl Jennings rested a hand on his team mate's shoulder. 'You had to do it.'

'Yeah,' the first-year mumbled, wondering privately whether he agreed with his team's tactics and hoping ardently that his friends' voices were not part of the chorus.

'Final warning, Weasley,' the teacher flew towards the two Slytherins.

Louis nodded, mutely.

'Same for both sides, sir?' Carl interjected. 'He's not the first one who's done that.'

Wood's glare turned cold. 'You worry about the quaffle, Mr Jennings, and I'll worry about the whistle.' His eyes narrowed, 'and perhaps we might see some Quidditch break out.'

Albus kicked out at the iron base of the barrier in front of him as Gryffindor's captain reduced the deficit to twenty points, sending Ollie Marsh the wrong way with his penalty shot. 'What the hell are they doing?'

'How should I know, mate?' Daniel shook his head. 'What was wrong with that, though?'

'You're not allowed to fly into someone,' Toby explained. 'At least not on purpose.'

'But what if he was about to get the snitch?' The muggle-born boy protested. 'Then Gryffindor would have won!'

'I know,' Albus couldn't argue, 'but that's, well, you just _don't_ do that.'

'What?' Nathan spluttered. 'This is a game where four players spend the whole game trying to smack people off their brooms, but everyone gets mad if Louis does that?' He shook his head. 'That's stupid.'

Felix shrugged. 'That's just how it is.'

'I told you it was a stupid game,' Alexander observed, barely shifting his glance from the book he'd long since turned his attention toward. 'Special treatment for the seeker. It's not like the game isn't already all about them anyway…'

Toby rolled his eyes. 'Shut up, Xan,' he groaned, shoving his friend playfully on the shoulder. 'We don't tell you your stuff's stupid.'

'That's cause it isn't!' The dark-haired boy's eyes sparkled as he grinned back, mischievously.

The other Ravenclaw was saved the trouble of arguing back, however, as Albus' frantic yell of recognition segued into a rapid-fire stream of commentary, with Joe Warnock sensing a crucial passage of play.

'Just moments after Weasley brought down Anthony with a cynical piece of blatching, the two seekers are off in hot pursuit of one another once again. They're dropping low, only feet from the ground now as they level out and look to tease every last inch of speed from their brooms: the snitch must be in range by now… Anthony has the edge, he's stretching out ahead of Weasley as the two seekers dart around: one turn, two turns, back on themselves. Anthony stretches out a hand, so does Weasley…'

'Oh, fuck!' Albus' mouth fell open as he watched his cousin's arm grab, not for the snitch, but for the broom of the Gryffindor seeker, sending both players tumbling to the floor in an undignified heap as the golden snitch flitted into the distance, forgotten beneath the outraged jeers from the red and gold sections of the stadium.

Daniel blinked. 'I guess he wasn't meant to do that either.' He shivered, watching the Gryffindor seeker force himself back to his feet and turn on his opponent, unwinding a right fist into Louis' jaw as the redhead tried, and failed, to regain his balance.

'Hey, HEY!' Wood's whistle burst above the din, the referee rapidly descending to stand between the two seekers. 'Cut that out, this instant.' The teacher's voice barely needed the magical amplification of its Sonorous charm to halt the boys' scuffle. 'This kind of behaviour has absolutely no place on the Quidditch pitch. _Off_ , both of you.' His tone of voice invited no argument. 'Captains,' he turned, pausing momentarily. 'You finish the game with six, and any repeat of this will end the match, and – quite possibly – end your _seasons_. Please make sure your teams understand.' He paused again, this time almost certainly for effect. 'The restart will be a Gryffindor penalty for blagging.'

'Bloody hell,' Albus swore again. 'I don't think anyone's ever been sent off at Hogwarts.'

'Some debut,' Daniel murmured. 'Some debut.'

Nathan felt himself shiver as he watched his friend and housemate trudge slowly across the mud and grass of the arena floor towards the Slytherin changing room. 'Just like Belvoir House…'

'What?' Daniel blinked.

'The cricket game,' Nathan answered bluntly as he got to his feet. 'I'm going to talk to him.'

'See you later, mate,' Albus nodded, 'and tell him that none of us are… um… that we don't…'

'I get it, Al,' Nathan acknowledged his friend's clumsy sympathy. 'I know.'

It came as no surprise to the blond first-year that the creak of the Slytherin changing room door sounded all the louder for the silence that hung behind. 'Louis?' Nathan called out, edging onto the cold tiled floor whilst the door swung shut behind him. 'Louis, are you there?'

'Go away,' a voice answered back.

'No.'

'Fine, fuck off then!' Nathan heard a crashing noise echo from behind a row of lockers and sighed to himself.

'No,' the blond boy repeated, his voice much louder than he had expected it to be. 'I know what this feels like, Louis, like you're all alone and the whole world's against you, but it isn't, and you're not!' He edged around the steel cages to find his friend, his head hidden between his knees, slumped on a wooden bench in the shadow of the racks.

'You know what this feels like?' Louis snorted, slowly lifting his head to face the other first-year. ' _Really_? _This_?'

Nathan bit his bottom lip as he recognised the all-too-familiar wide, black eyes that stared back at his own from either side of a sharp, hooked nose.

'Look at me!' The redhead snapped, jerking to his feet and standing only inches away from his friend. 'I'm a fucking freak! You've no idea what it feels like!'

Nathan willed himself to hold his housemate's glare. 'Last time you heard someone say that,' he swallowed, his voice dropping to a hoarse whisper, 'it was me who said it.'

'Oh,' Louis dropped onto the bench again, the venom in his voice evaporating as he remembered the way he had first met Nathan. 'I guess you do get it, then,' the redhead offered, weakly, his pupils shrinking back into their blue irises.

'Yeah,' Nathan nodded, slipping into the place beside his friend, 'and I know I was wrong then, just like you're wrong now.'

Louis mumbled something that was too quiet for the other boy to hear, turning away and staring back down at his feet.

'You know why I know that?' The blond boy continued, resting an arm around the redhead's shoulders. 'Cause you showed me.'

Louis made no effort to hide the red rims of his eyes as he looked back up at his friend. 'Thanks, Nathan,' he murmured, letting himself sink against the other boy's arm. 'Where… where are the others?'

'Still watching,' Nathan answered, softly, 'and they all think… they all _know_ this doesn't matter, it doesn't change anything, it doesn't change _you_.'

The seeker nodded. 'What about Professor Wood?'

'I bet he's been sent off before,' the other first-year reasoned, 'and even if he hasn't, I bet he knows people who have.'

'Not when they were eleven, though.' Louis shifted awkwardly on the bench, shuffling free of Nathan's arm.

'Only because they weren't good enough to play when they were eleven.'

Louis smiled weakly, but any chance he had to reply was cut short as the doors at both ends of the changing rooms burst open, and the older team members suddenly found themselves face-to-face with their Head of House.

'Professor Bennett…' Sammy Kerrigan's eyes widened.

'Congratulations,' the teacher acknowledged the seventh-year's arrival, but his voice was cold.

Sammy swallowed, recognising the chill in the man's tone. 'We won, didn't we?'

Greg shrugged. 'You won the battle,' he noted, 'but what about the war?' He nodded towards Louis' obviously distressed figure, as Nathan drew instinctively closer to his friend. 'What about today's casualties?'

'He had to do it,' the captain countered. 'He had to do that if we were going to win.'

'Is that what it's all about, then?' Greg argued back. 'Win at all costs? He shook his head. 'Is that why you started playing Quidditch?'

Sammy grimaced. 'You know what I mean, sir.'

'Do you know what he means, though?' Theo, who had so far stood silently beside Greg, chose his moment to interrupt. 'Do you know the reputation that Slytherin used to have?' He challenged the boy. 'Do you know the way we used to get treated?'

'Yes,' Sammy nodded as he begun to protest, 'but it's not like that any more…'

Theo snorted. 'You could have fooled me,' he glared at the captain. 'Did you hear the crowd today? Do you think they'll forgive you for ordering a first-year to cheat his way through his first game? Do you think anyone else out there wanted you to win that?' He sighed. 'We spent too long rebuilding Slytherin for you to tear it down again.'

'Alright, mate,' Greg held an arm across his lifelong friend. 'That's enough.' He took a couple of steps across the changing room. 'I know why you did that, Sam,' the teacher's voice softened, 'why you went all-out for the win, and I think I might have done the same when I was younger.' The teacher took a deep breath. 'But I guess one of those things about growing up is when you start to realise that sometimes you've got to think about playing the long game, that sometimes winning isn't everything.' He paused. 'Have you ever heard of Pyrrhus of Epirus?'


	20. Sons of Walpurgis

Nathan stretched out on his bed, his eyes running over and over the latest letter he had received from Charlie Riley, its paper covered in scribbled lines and crossings-out as the schoolboy had clumsily tried to organise and re-organise his thoughts.

 _I know this all sounds really weird, but I promise I'm not making it up, I swear it. There's nobody else we can tell, no-one will believe me and Connor. We're telling the truth, I promise you._

 _Remember when I told you about that van that Connor saw in Oxford the first time we met, before the explosions? Well we saw it again, today, in Ascot… but now Connor can't remember it, only I can. He got caught by the driver, and then there was this flash of light, and he couldn't remember anything after that. It was definitely there, though, I was hiding (I wasn't scared, it was just in case Connor got caught) and I took a picture of it on my phone._

 _It doesn't make sense! How could I lose my memory of seeing that van in Oxford, and then the same thing happen to Connor as well? It can't be a coincidence, that would be stupid. There's something weird going on, I just know it, but I don't know what, and it's driving me crazy! Do you have any ideas what? Do you even believe me…?_

Nathan sighed. 'I know _exactly_ what it is, Charlie,' he muttered to himself, 'but I can't tell you.' He rolled over onto his back, remembering his teachers' instructions about following the Statute of Secrecy. 'There's nothing stopping me saying that I believe you, though,' he declared defiantly, reaching for a sheet of paper on which to construct his own reply.

'Hey, Nath?' Louis' voice echoed across the dormitory as the redhead pushed the door open a few minutes later. 'You alright?'

The blond boy looked up, relaxing as he noticed his friend standing alone in the doorway. 'Yeah,' he acknowledged. 'Just writing back to Charlie, telling him I believe him, cause I don't know why he'd want to make this up, and telling him to make sure he's careful... _really_ careful.'

Louis nodded, edging across the room towards the other boy's bunk. 'Can I have a look at what you've put?'

'Yeah,' Nathan pushed the almost-complete letter towards his friend. 'Sure. It's nothing much, but…' he swallowed. 'There's nothing worse than feeling like you're on your own.'

Louis forced a weak smile onto his face as he heard the other boy's frank admission. 'I know,' he murmured, before his voice jarred upwards. 'Um, Nathan… about Saturday, after the game...' His face paled, and his freckles stood out across the bridge of his nose as his words stumbled from his mouth in a hurry that kept them from forming any real sentences. 'When I told you to fuck off, I didn't mean it. I know you were right and I shouldn't have said it and I'm sorry…'

Nathan smiled, his warm expression striking a sudden sharp contrast with the other boy's tense features. 'I guess that makes us even, then?' He offered. 'Although I did try and beat you up with a sun lounger.'

Louis relaxed, his anxious smile shifting into a weak grin as he realised his friend bore no grudges. 'Good thing that sun lounger was there, though,' he recalled. 'Or else that hailstorm would have _hurt_.'

'Yeah,' Nathan acknowledged the other boy's memory. 'I wonder if me and Charlie would have made up if I hadn't have come away to here?'

Louis sat down on the bed beside Nathan. 'How long had you been friends?'

'Ages,' the blond boy answered, simply. 'Ever since the first day of school, when we were four.'

'Well I think you'd have made up, then,' Louis tried to sound more confident than he felt. 'That's too long to fall out forever.'

Nathan folded up his letter, sliding it into an envelope as he replied. 'Did your best friends from primary school come to Hogwarts?'

'No,' Louis swallowed, his answer catching in his throat.

'What happened?' Nathan didn't notice his friend's voice faltering as he finished writing Charlie's address. 'Is there another magic school?'

Louis shook his head. 'Not in England,' he answered, avoiding the other boy's first question.

Nathan's eyes narrowed in thought, his full attention suddenly on the redhead. 'So… your friends…'

'I didn't really have any.' Louis stared at his own reflection in the black tiles of the dormitory floor. 'The magical kids and the muggle kids never really mixed too much,' he recalled, 'and the other magical kids thought I… they didn't… they…' He ran his hands through his untidy fringe, covering his sudden flush of embarrassment.

'Louis?'

'The Veela thing,' his voice dropped, almost to a whisper, as he confessed, 'and they thought I was spoiled, too,' he admitted. 'They were probably right.'

Nathan blinked. 'Louis…?' He hesitated. 'I… I didn't know. I'm sorry, I'd never have said anything if I did…'

Louis stood up, walking across the dormitory and wordlessly letting his forehead lean against the cold glass of the room's wide window.

'I'd never have said you were spoiled,' Nathan sat up. 'At my old school, at Ascot, there were plenty of kids who _were_ spoiled, and you could tell. They were only ever bothered about themselves, never anyone else.' He paused, taking a breath. 'That's not you. The first time we met you tried to help me.'

Louis snapped around, his tangled fringe falling over his eyes. 'That was only because Professor Bennett told me to!'

Nathan fell silent, regarding the other boy thoughtfully as the two children's eyes locked. 'What do you mean?' His voice dropped. 'Didn't you want to talk to me?'

'No,' Louis' eyes watered. 'That's not it,' he murmured, 'I swear.'

'Then what is it?' The blond boy shook his head. 'What's wrong?'

Louis shivered. 'I bet no-one had to tell you to come and talk to me on Saturday.'

Nathan blinked. 'So…?'

'That's it!' Louis' face flushed. 'That's the difference! Someone needs to tell me to do the things that you just _do_! I'm a rubbish friend!'

'You're not…' Nathan tried to interrupt, only for the other boy to keep talking over him.

'I bet you wouldn't have agreed with the plan on Saturday, either, you would have dared to say no, it's not Quidditch! You wouldn't have ended up the youngest person ever to get sent off at Hogwarts…' Louis' breath rasped against the back of his throat. 'Shit…' he turned away, hiding his face as he felt the sudden cold of tears against his cheeks.

'No one told you to help me learn to fly,' Nathan pointed out, calmly, 'or to stick up for me on the train.' He stood up, slowly crossing the dormitory to stand beside the redhead. 'You wouldn't have done that if you were a rubbish friend.'

Louis turned his back. 'You're just saying that.'

'Well, it's true,' Nathan's voice turned sharp. 'What else do you want me to say?'

Louis sighed. 'I… I don't know.' His shoulders slumped. 'Shit,' he swore again. 'It's, I just, oh, Merlin…' He turned back to face the blond boy, no longer trying to hide his tears. 'Sorry,' he mumbled. 'You're right. I just got reminded of everything all of a sudden, and, and…'

Nathan took a deep breath. 'It's alright, mate,' he offered. 'Come on,' he let his hand rest on the other boy's shoulder, gently guiding him back across the dormitory. 'You don't have to tell me this if you don't want to… but…' Nathan stumbled over a clumsy question, 'but how come people thought you were spoiled?'

The redhead sighed, sitting down slowly on the end of his friend's bed.

'It's okay,' Nathan reassured him, 'you don't have to say.'

Louis grimaced, shaking his head. 'They said I was a bad loser, that I couldn't take it if I didn't get what I wanted every time.'

Nathan blinked. 'Is that true?'

The other boy stared down at his feet.

'It doesn't matter…' Nathan tried to backtrack.

'It's true,' Louis whispered. 'I think Mum used to let me get my own way at home, maybe because I was the youngest, or cause she knew there was something wrong with me…'

'There's nothing wrong with you!'

Louis managed a thin smile. 'There is, Nath, there is. We both know it. I shouldn't be like this.'

'That doesn't mean there's something _wrong_ ,' the blond boy insisted. 'Just because you're different, that doesn't mean you're wrong! Hagrid's different, that doesn't make him wrong!'

'We know why Hagrid's different, though!' Louis reddened. 'No one knows why I'm a boy Veela.'

Nathan took a deep breath. 'That still doesn't mean there's anything wrong. I bet someone will find out. My Dad's a scientist, I know he'll help.'

'Thank you,' Louis breathed, a full smile catching his eyes for the first time since he had entered the dormitory, 'and sorry for… for being a dick…'

'Forget it, Louis,' Nathan laughed. 'It doesn't matter. Just… I remember the first time you taught me how to fly, how you wouldn't listen to me when I said I couldn't do it.' His voice dropped, and he hesitated before continuing. 'So why… why do you keep telling yourself that stuff? How come you lose your confidence so easily...'

Louis nodded, despondently. 'I guess it's when I think about all the things my sisters did,' he murmured, 'or my aunts and uncles.' The redhead realised his eyes were burning again.

'Oh,' Nathan remembered the stories that Louis and Albus had told about the exploits of the Weasley family and their friends during the Wizarding War, and imagining the standards that his friend must have been setting himself. 'You can't spend your whole life thinking like that!'

'It's hard not to, not when you get reminded of them all the time,' Louis sighed.

'Well, then,' a look of determination crossed Nathan's face. 'I guess I'll just have to keep reminding you, too.' He smiled, reaching for his letter. 'Now come on, I need to go and find Max and get this posted.'

It didn't take Nathan and Louis long to stumble across the fourth-year, slumped in one corner of the common room with a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ in his hands.

'Max?' Nathan ventured, crossing the room towards the older boy. 'Max,' he repeated. 'Are you alright?'

Max Deverill looked up, sharply. 'What do you want?' He demanded.

Nathan swallowed. 'I,' he gulped, 'I just wondered if you could post this for me…'

The fourth-year stared back. 'What, now?'

'Hey, Nathan?' The two first-years spun around, surprised by the interruption, to find Sammy Kerrigan heading in their direction. 'What's up?'

'Um,' the eleven-year-old shuddered. 'I was just asking Max if he could post this letter for me.'

Sammy exhaled. 'Not really a good time.'

'Why?' Louis blinked. 'How come?'

The seventh-year sighed. 'I take it you haven't read the _Prophet_ today?'

Louis shook his head, and Sammy beckoned the two boys towards him, leading them towards an abandoned copy of the newspaper on a low table at the other side of the common room.

'Page three,' the older boy explained, simply, leaving Louis to straighten up the untidy parchment and follow the Quidditch captain's directions.

 ** _WHEN WILL IT END?_**

 ** _Or is this just the beginning?_**

 _This is Arscott Manor, as it stood last summer, home to the Deverill family for hundreds of years, a typical slice of magical Britain. Today the East Wing lies in ruin, burned to the ground, and 79-year-old Alicia Deverill is in St Mungo's Hospital, fighting for her life._

 _What has the Ministry of Magic said? Nothing. What has the Ministry of Magic done? Nothing. What does the Ministry of Magic know? I fear I know the answer._

 _It is less than a week since your_ Prophet _begged for the Ministry to tell the truth about the links between the recent terrorist attacks in Muggle Oxford and last Tuesday's Dorset Derby. Is this latest atrocity connected? Who is behind it?_

 _Perhaps the Ministry is not concealing the truth. Perhaps it knows as much (or as little) as you or I, and cannot protect its people? What will be next? How much do the Muggles know?_

 _You can rest assured that the_ Daily Prophet _will leave no stone unturned as it bids to unearth the truth behind this chaos. I only hope that the Ministry of Magic will do the same._

'Oh, shit.' Louis exclaimed.

'Yeah,' Sammy nodded. 'I suppose you could put it like that.'

'Wait,' Nathan interrupted. 'I thought Max's family were muggles?'

Sammy shook his head. 'No,' he answered. 'That's his Grandma. He doesn't live there. His Mum's a squib, and she married a muggle. I bet this is the first time the Prophet's cared about them for years.'

Nathan shuddered. 'Max,' he stood up, hurrying across the room. 'I think I know something. I think I know about a connection.'

The blond boy looked up, suddenly. 'What?'

'Like it says in the Prophet, about there being a connection between Oxford and Dorset, between the attacks.' He took a breath. 'One of my old muggle friends was there in Oxford, he saw it happen. There was a van there… it said "Just Like Magic", but he got Obliviated because he saw it. I know he'd try to help. This is his address, if you want to write to him.'

'Thank you,' Max nodded, mechanically, taking the envelope from the first-year. 'I'll post this for you later.'

Nathan managed a thin smile. 'Thank you,' he managed, 'and sorry about your Grandma. I hope she's better soon.'

'Thanks,' Max acknowledged, his head dropping back down to the open newspaper, leaving Nathan to walk slowly back to his friend.

'Why did you tell him?' Louis hissed.

Nathan blinked. 'Because,' he swallowed, 'look at him! Look what happened,' he pointed back to the newspaper. 'Even if it's only a little bit of help, haven't we got to try?'

'I guess,' Louis grimaced, 'as long as Max doesn't break the Statute…'

Nathan looked back over his shoulder. 'He won't,' the redhead declared, confidently. 'He won't.'

'I hope you're right.'

Despite Louis' fears, November drew onwards without any more surprises, and as the days became shorter and the mornings colder, the first-years were left wondering if there really was a connection between the shock events that had punctuated the Christmas term.

'How's Felix?' Albus looked up as the common room doorway opened, revealing his cousin in the corridor beyond.

'Fine,' Louis murmured. 'Just a bit frightened of what his parents are going to think, that's all. He's convinced he's going to get a howler tomorrow morning.

Albus nodded. 'He's probably right. Aunt Hermione will tell his parents, for sure.'

Nathan shivered. 'Those freak me out,' he admitted. 'I'm glad my parents can't ever send me one.'

'Yeah,' Daniel agreed. 'I bet my mum would love it, if she could,' he snarled.

'He's got detention for the rest of the week,' Louis added. 'It's going to be the same every night, an hour of lines…'

Albus groaned. 'He'd never have got that if it was someone else he'd sworn at,' he complained. 'It's not fair, it's special treatment because she's her mum. Rose never got punished for what she said to Felix and Scorp.'

'What did you expect, though?' Daniel grunted. 'They've been trying to get us into trouble all term, ever since Wood gave me detention for calling Skeeter a…'

'We know what you called her, Dan,' Albus stopped his friend from repeating the word, 'and we should've learned. It's a stupid way to get into trouble.'

Nathan winced. 'I still feel sorry for him.'

'Me too,' Louis nodded, 'but he should have known.' He sighed, tossing a newspaper to his muggle-born friend. 'Here you are mate, today's _Times_.'

'Thanks,' Nathan caught the paper, flicking it open and scanning its inside pages.

'I don't know why you keep reading it, Nath,' the redhead continued. 'There's not been anything interesting for months…'

The blond boy grunted. 'I don't want to miss anything,' he argued, 'and besides…' He folded out a double page, placing it on the table in front of him.

'Sons of Walpurgis? Daniel snorted, derisively. 'What the hell?' The eleven-year-old began to read aloud. 'The wave of graffiti that is now so depressingly commonplace across London and the Home Counties began less than a month ago, on a railway siding near Reading West Station. Since then, however, the craze has spread, spawning a "viral" video on the Internet before becoming all the more sinister as the graffiti began to appear following a series of robberies in the Blackbird Leys area of Oxford…' Daniel blinked. 'So what…?'

'You didn't listen in History, did you?' Louis shivered. 'The Death Eaters started off as the Knights of Walpurgis. Whoever's doing this, whoever started it, they're not just going after wizards, or muggles, they're just making people _afraid_.'

'Yeah,' Albus nodded, scanning the article, 'and, whoever it is, they're doing a bloody good job.'


	21. Just Like Magic

**A/N: Hello all, and thanks for following Albus and friends to this point. The story is already written to its end, in about a dozen chapters' time, so keep tuned! The plan is one chapter per day, before continuing with some of the other stories from the universe.**

 **If you're enjoying things, you can check out "Lion, Eagle, Badger, Snake" over at my author page, which is the story of Greg's first year. That's also being published daily to completion. I'd love to hear what you thought of the boys and their universe...**

Charlie Riley tried to conceal a yawn as he filed into the main hall at Ascot School. The night before, he'd received a cryptic letter from Nathan, mentioning the "Sons of Walpurgis" graffiti that seemed to be popping up everywhere around town all of a sudden, and he felt like he'd stayed up all night trying work out what his friend had meant. ' _Be careful_ ,' he recalled, sitting down on the end of a row, ignoring the boys next to him. 'Careful of what…?' Charlie sighed, rubbing his eyes and struggling to feign interest as the school's headmaster began speaking.

'… delighted to welcome a special guest to talk to us today. As we look forward to the end of term and the festive season, we should always remember those that are less fortunate than ourselves,' the teacher's words faded into the eleven-year-old's consciousness. 'Please welcome Kevin, from the charity _Just Like Magic_.'

The tiredness faded from Charlie's expression in an instant, as his eyes locked onto a man with greying, auburn hair, a pointed chin and a sneer across his lined face.

'I, uh, sir,' Charlie scrambled half-upright, catching the attention of a young teacher nearby. 'I've got to go to the toilet,' he hissed, urgently.

'Can't it wait?'

Charlie shook his head. 'I think it might be diarrhoea, sir, my mum said she wasn't sure if I should come to school but I said I was alright but now I'm bursting…' He lied, fidgeting frantically and praying that the teacher would give way.

'Ugh,' the man winced. 'Too much information, Riley. Go, if you must…

'Thank you, sir,' Charlie hurried to his feet, taking a couple of long strides around another row of older boys, and slipped out a wooden fire exit at the side of the room, before scampering the short distance to the nearest toilet and collapsing on the other side of the door. 'Fucking hell…' he breathed. 'What's going on? Why are they here?' A stream of thoughts ran through his mind. 'Do they know what you've seen? They must do…'

Charlie's head dropped. 'Oh, shit,' he swore, burying his face between his knees. 'What on earth am I going to do?' He felt his eyes beginning to burn and forced his palms into their closed lids, forcing himself to maintain his composure. 'Shit, shit, shit…' He swore again, before letting out a long, solitary breath. 'Connor. They'll be after him, too.' Charlie swallowed, pushing himself unsteadily to his feet. 'I've got to get out,' he concluded, flushing the toilet to buy himself a moment's time as a plan began to form in his mind.

Counting down the minutes until the end of Assembly, he leaned over the still-whirling basin and jammed his fingers down his throat, gagging as his breakfast forced its way back past his wrist, splattering the cuffs of his blazer jacket and pebble-dashing the toilet bowl. 'Ugh,' he groaned, peering into a mirror above the bathroom sink and smiling, weakly, at his pale reflection.

Charlie checked his watch again, assuring himself that he had enough time to complete his plan, and grabbed the handle of the toilet door before heading across the schoolyard to the secretary's office. 'Er, hi,' he knocked twice, starting to speak before the grey-haired woman could look up. 'I've been sick,' he began, choosing his words carefully, 'and I'm meant to go home. I need to ring my mum.' He took a couple of steps towards the office phone.

'Oh,' the woman flustered, 'well, I suppose you ought to,' she fussed. 'Do you know the number?'

Charlie nodded, punching out his own mobile phone number and waiting for the sound of the ringtone. 'Oh, hi mum,' he faked as his own answerphone message echoed in his ears. 'You were right, I was ill.' He swallowed. 'See you later. Bye.' He put down the receiver. 'Thank you.' Charlie managed another weak smile, turning round and heading back into the school building, skirting the bike sheds and unfastening the lock around his own bicycle's front wheels.

The eleven-year-old edged back to the side of the assembly hall, crouching down beside the fire door he'd sneaked out of a few minutes earlier and listening intently through the crack at its edge.

'Now,' he heard Kevin intone, ' _Just Like Magic_ would like to recognise the efforts of one boy, a pupil here at Ascot School…'

'Not on my watch.' Charlie took a deep breath. 'Here goes nothing,' he whispered, springing to his feet and reaching out to smash the glass cover of a fire alarm opposite the hall doors. In the split second of silence before the ear-splitting din of the bell echoed across the school, Charlie was already halfway to the bike sheds.

Charlie could not remember cycling the short route home more quickly than he did that morning, and he felt his forehead damp with sweat as he stumbled across the threshold of his family's detached house. 'Connor…' He shuddered, kicking his shoes off and throwing his blazer onto the floor, before running up a flight of stairs to his own bedroom, and grabbing his mobile phone. 'Please answer… please answer… shit!' Charlie threw the phone down against his bedsheets as the dial tone gave way to an answering machine. 'What the hell am I going to do?' He collapsed downwards onto his mattress, feeling the prickle of heat against his shoulder blades, and began to snatch at the buttons of his school shirt.

The eleven-year-old sighed, remembering the last time he had hurriedly ridden home from school, and the awkward memories he had forced himself to confront. 'I wish Nathan was still here,' he winced, 'but he's not. It's just you. No one else believes you any more, no one except Connor.' He took a deep breath, steadying himself. 'I guess you'll just have to go to Oxford,' his mind settled on what began to feel like an unavoidable conclusion.

Charlie pushed himself up, letting his shirt fall from his shoulders, and began to rummage in his wardrobe for a change of clothes. 'Look normal,' he whispered, picking out a pair of jeans and an old sweatshirt, before pulling a black-and-yellow rugby shirt from the back of his swivel chair. He changed quickly, glancing into his bedroom mirror before grabbing his open wallet from a bedside table, and heading back for the staircase. 'Train,' he muttered to himself. 'It's the only way.'

'We will shortly be arriving at Oxford. Oxford is our next station stop,' a disembodied voice echoed around the carriage of the inter-city train, and Charlie Riley lifted his forehead from the cold window pane to listen. 'When leaving the train, please ensure you take all of your personal belongings with you, and take care to mind the gap between the train and the platform edge. Thank you for travelling with First Great Western.'

Charlie stood up, stretching his arms. 'Excuse me…?' He asked the person filling the seat beside him. 'Could I…'

The man grunted, getting to his feet to let Charlie out, and muttering something about children and manners beneath his breath as the boy squeezed past.

Charlie glanced back over his shoulder, before shaking his head as he edged down the aisle in the centre of the carriage, bracing himself against the handrails in the vestibule as the train shuddered its way into the station. His left hand closed around the mobile phone in the pocket of his jeans, and he forced the train door open, stumbling as he missed his step onto the platform. 'So that's what "mind the gap" means…' he murmured.

'Hey, kid,' Charlie tensed as he felt a hand on his shoulder. 'You want to watch where you're going. You alright?'

'Yeah,' Charlie didn't look up. 'I'm fine.' He tightened his grip on his mobile phone, letting the unfamiliar man walk on past before lifting the device up, convincing himself to try his friend's number another time before letting out another sigh of frustration as the familiar message played out. Charlie trudged up the metal steps that led to a steel-bottomed footbridge across the station platforms. 'What now?' He asked himself, looking out over the circuit of taxis on the other side of a blue iron railing.

Charlie turned, heading back down the staircase onto the opposite platform, passing through the ticket barriers with a wry smile as he remembered Connor's awkward arrival at Ascot. He glanced around the food stands and vendors in the station concourse, shaking his head again before making his way towards the automatic doors that led into the city centre. 'Where now?' He echoed his own question, looking down at the smartphone screen that told him the cold facts that he'd made nine calls to Connor's number that morning, and none of them had been answered. 'Where are you, Connor?' He sighed. 'I know you take your phone to school with you. Can't you even text back?'

The eleven-year-old shivered, wondering for a moment if he ought to have brought a coat, and made his mind up to head back to the marketplace where everything had begun a couple of months before.

It took him nearly half an hour to pick his way across the middle of Oxford, dodging students, shoppers, cars and more bicycles than the boy had realised could share a single road, before he came to the southern doors of the covered market. It was the opposite side of the arcade to the place where he had met Connor for the first time, but as he walked inside the building and joined the queue which led to a cookie stall, he quickly realised that the subtle differences wouldn't be enough to stop the memories of the explosions from flooding back.

'Just one, please,' he swallowed, looking up at the girl behind the counter as his turn came. 'Double chocolate.'

'Certainly, love,' the teenager replied, slipping the biscuit into a paper bag. 'One pound, please.'

Charlie nodded, handing over a single coin.

'Are you alright, dear?'

'What?' Charlie bit his lip, suddenly aware that he might not have controlled his emotions properly as his old memories sprung to mind. He grabbed the end of his sweatshirt, rubbing his eyes with the sleeve. 'Oh, I'm fine,' he tried to smile. 'It's just the last time I was here was when the bombs went off.'

'Ohh…' The girl's face softened instantly, her hands halting on their way to the cash register. 'You poor thing.'

Charlie winced. 'I'm fine, honest,' he protested, immediately wishing he hadn't shared the story. 'I'm alright.'

The teenager shook her head. 'Have this on us,' she insisted, pushing the coin back towards Charlie, who knew better than to make a scene.

'Thanks, miss…' The boy blushed.

'Think nothing of it, young man,' the girl smiled. 'Have a lovely day.'

'Thank you.' Charlie repeated himself, feeling dizzy as he turned away from the counter, wandering back down an alleyway which led onto a wide road that a nearby sign announced was called High Street. 'What am I doing…?' His eyes fell upon an unoccupied bench along the road, and his legs, seemingly unbidden, took him towards its wooden slats. 'I've no idea where Connor is...'

The boy slid his still-warm cookie out of its paper bag, lifting it to his mouth and guiltily taking a bite. 'That's good,' he murmured through a mouthful of biscuit, watching a procession of buses follow one another along the High Street. 'I guess I just keep calling…' Charlie finished his cookie before picking up his mobile phone for what felt like the hundredth time that morning, and listening wearily to its dial tone. 'Come on, Connor, please answer,' he begged. 'Where are you…?'

'Hello?' An unfamiliar voice answered.

Charlie almost dropped the phone. 'Hello?' He echoed. 'Who is this? Is Connor there?' The line fell quiet, but for a background thrum, and Charlie felt his heart begin to thump against his ribcage. 'Hello?'

'Hello,' the voice answered again. 'My name is Rebecca, and I'm a nurse at the John Radcliffe Hospital in Oxford…'

The boy's vision began to blur in front of him. 'What…?' He demanded. 'Where's Connor? What's happened to Connor…?'

'Your friend has been involved in a road accident…'

Charlie felt like he'd just been punched in the stomach. He opened his mouth to reply, only to find that no words would come, and the phone line fell silent again.

'I'm sorry,' the nurse's voice echoed emptily inside Charlie's mind.

'Is he… can he… will he…' Charlie coughed, stumbling over his attempt to answer, his voice rising with every syllable. 'Is he going to be alright?'

More silence.

' _Is he going to be alright_?' Charlie's voice shrilled. 'He's _got to be_ …'

'He's critical but stable,' Rebecca replied, and Charlie slumped back down on the bench again, feeling as if he had taken a second punch. 'I'm sorry, but could you tell us his name?'

'Connor Norris,' Charlie answered, quickly, before realising why he had been asked that particular question. 'How come he couldn't tell you himself? What's happened?' The eleven-year-old swore under his breath, screwing his eyes shut as he fought against a rush of tears. 'What's happened to him?' He repeated, desperately. 'Can I come and see him?'

'Well…'

'I have to come and see him!' Charlie lost control, yelling into his mobile phone. 'You don't understand, I have to, I, I… oh, shit…' he blushed a furious red as a shocked group of passers-by turned to stare in his direction. 'I'm sorry. Please?'

'I can't promise you anything,' the nurse answered, and Charlie felt a shiver run through his whole body, 'but I will see what I can do. It seems like you are a very close friend of his.'

Charlie nodded, before remembering that his body language couldn't travel along the telephone line. 'Yeah,' he murmured. 'I guess so.'

'Well, come up to the JR, and I'll try to meet you in the reception… What's your name?'

'Charlie Riley.'

'See you soon, Charlie.'

The phone line went dead, and Charlie's hand slumped to his side on the bench beside him. 'Fucking hell,' he whispered, slipping his phone back into the pocket of his jeans and pushing his hands into the fringe of his brown hair. 'That's why he never answered this morning… a road accident…' He mulled over the nurse's words. 'I bet it was that fucking van.'

He took a deep breath, hearing his own bad language echoing inside his head and wondering when it had become so easy for him to utter such coarse words. 'Belvoir House,' he murmured, as a flashback of the abuse he'd hurled towards his former best friend played back inside his head again. 'You just fucked up our whole season, you useless piece of shit!'

Charlie shivered at the memory. 'I'm not letting anyone fuck things up this time,' he resolved. He pushed himself to his feet, crossing the pavement to the kerb at the edge of the road, and held his hand out as a black taxi passed. 'JR Hospital,' he instructed, doing his best to sound like he knew where he was heading, and dropped down onto the back seat of the cab. The eleven-year-old barely noticed the spires of Oxford's colleges passing the taxi's windows, or the way the streets' architecture faded from classical Gothic frontages into busy, modern terracing as his ride left the city centre on its way to the hospital.

'Six eighty.' The boy barely registered the cost of the cab fare, paying without complaint before watching the taxi loop the roundabout at the hospital's entrance and head away, looking out for the driver's next job.

'Here goes,' Charlie thought to himself, following the short path across a concrete apron up to the hospital's main doors. 'Here goes nothing.' Charlie walked, slowly, up to the reception desk and took a deep breath. 'Hi,' he murmured, managing a weak smile. 'My friend's here. He was in a road accident this morning.'

The receptionist, a woman in her early twenties with curly blond hair, nodded. 'His name?'

'Connor Norris.'

'Oh,' the receptionist responded, flatly, and Charlie noticed her tone of voice instantly.

'What?' The boy snapped. 'I know he's here, I know he's hurt. That's why I want to see him.'

The woman grimaced. 'Wait here,' she announced, lifting up a telephone handset. 'I'll call the ward.'

'I spoke to Rebecca,' Charlie blustered. 'She said…'

'I'm told you; I'm calling the ward,' the receptionist repeated, grimly, and Charlie sighed, resigning himself to waiting whilst the woman spoke.

'Take a seat,' the receptionist instructed him, a few moments later. 'Someone will collect you shortly.'

Charlie took a deep breath. 'Thank you,' he grunted, turning his back and settling himself down onto the nearest hard, plastic chair. He didn't have to wait for too long before a vaguely familiar voice roused him.

'Charlie?' A woman asked. 'Charlie Riley?'

'Yeah?' The boy looked up, noticing a young woman standing in front of him. 'Rebecca?' His voice softened as the nurse nodded. 'Hi.'

'Nice to meet you, Charlie,' Rebecca greeted him, putting an arm on his shoulder as he stood up.

The boy nodded, awkwardly. 'You too,' he mumbled.

'Your friend's been seriously hurt, Charlie,' the nurse began to explain, gently leading him beneath a sign labelled "Intensive Care". 'He won't be able to talk to you. He probably won't even recognise you.'

Charlie nodded again, unable to think of any other way to reply.

'Thank you for telling us his name earlier,' Rebecca continued. 'We've managed to find him on our database now, but we haven't been able to contact his parents. Do you know…'

'No,' Charlie interrupted the nurse's question. 'I don't. I've never been to his house,' he exhaled. 'I know. It doesn't make sense. It's complicated,' he stared down at his trainers as they continued to follow the nurse's path across the hospital. 'I'm sorry.'

Rebecca patted the boy's shoulder. 'It's alright, Charlie. It's really helped us just knowing who he is.'

'I could tell you what school he went to if that would help?'

'We know,' the nurse assured him. 'It was all on his file. Do you go to the same school?'

Charlie shook his head. 'No. I go to a private school; it's already finished for Christmas.' This was close enough to the truth not to be a lie, he reasoned to himself, fending off what he thought would have to be the woman's next question.

'Almost there now,' Rebecca seemed to accept his half-truth, changing the subject. 'Brace yourself, Charlie,' she warned. 'This won't be easy.'

'I'm ready,' the boy replied, but the wavering in his voice betrayed his true emotions.

Rebecca pushed open a double-door into a long ward, filled with flashing lights and whirring machines, before guiding Charlie gently in front of herself as she reached to open a privacy screen, revealing a thin, single bed beside a stack of technology and monitors.

'Oh my God…' Charlie gasped, his eyes taking in the brace around his friend's pale neck, strapped beneath a network of tubes and wires that criss-crossed the blond boy's face and body. A heavy bruise darkened his left eye, matching a patchwork of injuries that decorated his bare chest. 'Connor…'

Charlie gave up on holding back his tears, and stumbled to his knees beside the other boy's bed, grabbing hold of his friend's limp hand.

'I'm sorry,' Rebecca soothed.

'He's not going to die,' Charlie shuddered, turning around to look over his shoulder at the nurse. 'Is he?'

Rebecca took a deep breath. 'He's stable at the moment, Charlie,' she repeated the summary she'd given over the phone. 'That's all we can say right now.'

Charlie nodded, tearfully. 'He'll be alright,' the boy insisted, squeezing his friend's unconscious hand tighter for a brief moment. 'I know it.'

'Your first term, almost over,' Neal Kennedy passed a bottle of butterbeer along the staff table at the head of the Great Hall. 'Congratulations, mate.'

'Thanks,' Greg accepted the drink, gratefully. 'Almost there.'

Neal grinned. 'A good start, too,' he glanced towards the Slytherin House table, 'for you, and for your boys. They're a pleasure to teach.'

'They got there in the end,' Greg acknowledged. 'Couldn't have done it without your lads, though, specially Xan and Toby. Made of sterner stuff than you'd think, those two.'

The Head of Ravenclaw nodded, looking proudly over at his own first-years as they laughed at a joke from inside a Christmas cracker. 'Any plans for the holidays, then?'

Greg shook his head. 'Down to Dan, really,' he concluded. 'I'm going to stay up here tomorrow, clear things up whilst they all go back on the train, let Theo look after him tonight, and take it from there. I'm sure he'll want to spend some time with his friends,' the teacher assumed. 'What else, though, I don't know. Play it by ear, I guess.'

Neal smiled. 'You're welcome round mine if you can get rid of him for a night,' he offered. 'Theo, too… and the others, in fact. Palm Danny off on the Potters for a few days and you're sorted.'

'Yeah,' Greg laughed, 'maybe,' he grinned. 'Wild Hunters reunited.'

Neal rolled his eyes. 'I'll get the Firewhisky in,' he deadpanned, glancing up the table towards Oliver Wood. 'I know what pro sportsmen are like.'

The Gryffindor looked around sharply. 'Did someone mention Firewhisky?'

'Told you,' Neal laughed aloud, and as the men became distracted by their own banter, none of the teachers noticed a black raven landing on the corner of the Slytherin table, tearing a strip off Nathan's Christmas turkey before fleeing into the winter night. In its place, the bird left a single side of parchment, covered in torn-off scraps of newspaper headlines that had been arranged into an untidy message.

'Your friend got lucky today,' the blond boy read the first line of text slowly aloud. 'We won't miss him again.' Nathan shivered, passing the paper down to his housemates and letting them read its threats for themselves.

'There's something on the back,' Albus looked across to his friend, making eye contact before flipping the parchment over. 'Just Like Magic.' He swallowed. 'Shit.'

'What do you think it means?' Daniel turned the letter over twice more, re-reading its coldly menacing words.

'It's obvious, isn't it?' Nathan shook his head. ' _Just Like Magic_ ,' he repeated. 'Like that bloody van that Connor and Charlie saw. They _know_! They've found out about them!'

Louis reached an arm around his friend's shoulders, trying to comfort the other boy. 'They didn't know enough to get him today, though, did they? Not by the sounds of that.'

Nathan struggled to manage a smile. 'I guess not,' he stammered. 'We've got to warn him, though,' he voice turned insistent, 'and as soon as we can. We can't wait for normal post.'

'We could send my owl,' Albus suggested.

Louis' eyes widened. 'Your owl?' He echoed. 'But what about the Statute of Secrecy?'

'I don't think these guys who are trying to get Charlie care about the Statute of Secrecy,' his cousin replied, coldly. 'Nathan,' he turned, 'do you think Charlie would freak out if we sent Kjeld?'

Nathan paused for a moment, before shaking his head. 'He'll be alright,' the blond boy took a deep breath. 'If he outsmarted them today, he'll be alright.'

'Right,' Albus nodded. 'We'll go to the owlery before curfew tonight, and tell Kjeld to wait for a reply before coming back to us. Charlie will work that out, right?'

'Yeah,' Nathan agreed with his friend, 'as long as we tell him in our letter,' he sighed, turning back to poke the remaining meat on his plate with his fork. 'I don't know about you guys, but I've totally lost my appetite.'

'Me too,' Louis added, glancing up to the staff table and then to the doors of the Great Hall. 'Shall we go now?'

Albus speared the final slice of turkey on his own plate. 'Fine,' he stuffed the meat into his mouth, 'but bring some of your leftovers. Kjeld hates being disturbed…'


	22. When Worlds Collide

He had expected a rough night. He had expected to find it difficult to settle to sleep. He should have expected the nightmares.

Charlie's eyes burst open as the image of Connor's motionless body jolted him awake for the second time that night. He blinked, glancing sideways at the digital clock on his bedside table. It was 2.13am.

Everything seemed so real; the pallor of the hospital corridor, the sanitary odours of alcohol gel and hand cleanser, and the mechanical rhythm of the machines, thumping out a beat that still seemed to persist even as he rubbed his eyes.

'Hang on,' he muttered to himself, 'I'm not imagining that,' he realised. 'That's real.' Charlie pushed himself upright, shivering as he felt the chill of sweat against his shoulderblades. He edged towards his bedroom window, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the heavy fabric of the navy blue curtains. 'What is it?'

The boy took a deep breath, dragging the curtain back before exhaling, stunned, as he recognised the outline of an owl on the other side of the pane of glass. 'What the hell?' He tightened his grip on the edge of the curtain, watching the bird tap out its consistent pattern on his window frame. Charlie tried to peer beyond the bird's wingspan, searching for any further threats beyond. 'Go away,' he complained. 'I'm trying to sleep.' He sighed, resigning himself to opening the window and shooing the bird away, only to jump backwards with a shriek of surprise as the small owl, its plumage flecked brown and tawny, hopped nonchalantly through the window frame.

Charlie screwed his eyes shut. 'I'm still dreaming,' he told himself. 'I have to be. I must be.'

An insistent squawk from the bird confirmed that he wasn't, and as the brown-haired boy opened his eyes again he noticed the owl holding out one of its talons, with a sheet of parchment attached.

'This is nuts.' Charlie shook his head, reaching out to take the paper and stumbling down onto his unmade bed as the words sunk in. 'I don't believe it.' Charlie looked back to the owl, and the still-open window frame, and shuddered. 'I guess I've got to, though.' He stood up again, jerking the window closed and shutting the cold December wind out of his bedroom, before settling back down on his bed to re-read the letter.

 _Charlie_

 _I'm sorry if this freaks you out a bit, but it was the only way we could think of to make sure you got this. The owl is called Kjeld. He belongs to one of my friends and is trained to do things like this. He knows to wait for a reply before he leaves._

 _You know the people in the van you saw? They are trying to get you. They tried to get you this morning but you got away, I don't know how. I'm sure they're going to try again. Please be careful. Don't leave your house if you don't have to. Don't go anywhere on your own._

 _Our school finished today and the train comes back tomorrow, but we don't get to London until late. I will come and see you first thing on Sunday morning, I promise. I will try to explain as much as I can then._

 _From Nathan_

The eleven-year-old shook his head. 'This is too weird,' he exclaimed, locking eyes with the waiting bird, before looking away quickly as Kjeld seemed to stare back into his skull. 'Way too weird.'

His sense of disbelief wasn't enough to stop him from following the letter's instructions, however, and he scrambled across to the swivel chair beside his desk to pen a short reply. 'I've got to go see Connor again tomorrow,' he thought out loud as he wrote, explaining why he needed to visit his friend, 'but Dad's going to drive us there, so that'll be alright.'

Charlie glanced back over his shoulder, spinning the chair a quarter-turn as he moved, and double-checking that the owl was still there, standing guard on his window sill. 'Cool bird,' he managed a thin smile. 'Just like magic, really…'

'Do you remember the last time we were on here, Al?' Louis turned to his cousin as the Hogwarts Express gathered speed on its way into the Scottish countryside.

Albus reddened. 'I reckon that's going to be pretty hard to forget,' he confessed. 'I guess you were right about me ending up in Slytherin, though…'

'What?' Toby Stretton looked up.

'It doesn't matter,' Albus shrugged. 'You know everything that happened right at the start of term…' He shifted, uncomfortably, on his seat as the other Ravenclaw boys in the compartment turned to look in his direction.

'Yeah, we do,' Nathan interrupted, stridently, 'and we don't need to go over it again, not with everything that's happened since.'

Louis nodded. 'Sorry,' he mumbled. 'I didn't mean it like that, Al… I just mentioned it cause we were here again, and everything's turned out so different to how we… how I thought it would.'

'It's okay, Lou,' his cousin smiled, 'and you're right. It's totally different to what I thought, too.'

Daniel laughed. 'I've no idea what I thought it would be like,' he reflected, 'but it's been fun. When I wasn't in detention, anyway.'

Felix Ashcroft snorted. 'Tell me about it…'

'It's your own silly fault you got that week, Felix,' Alexander Corner reasoned. 'Calling Rose that when her mum was in the room…'

'Yeah,' Felix shrugged, 'but she deserved it though, didn't she?' The Ravenclaw grinned, leaving the other boys in the railway carriage to descend into blushing laughter. 'You were all thinking it, right?'

Toby grinned. 'We knew better than to say it in front of her mum, though!'

'Whatever,' his housemate rolled his eyes. 'It's no surprise you've never got into trouble, is it?' He jabbed. 'That's turned out how we all expected!'

'Shut up,' The tawny-haired boy flushed, quickly changing the subject. 'I was going to ask if you wanted to come over at Christmas, but I guess I'm too boring for you,' he glared.

Felix swallowed. 'Sorry, Toby,' he backtracked. 'I was just joking.'

Toby smiled, before turning his attention to Daniel. 'Are you staying at Professor Bennett's all Christmas?' He asked, and the muggle-born boy nodded.

'Yeah, I think,' Daniel sighed. 'I don't think my mum will ever want me back with her,' he tried to make light of his situation, 'and I wouldn't want to go back, anyway.'

'What's his address?' Toby asked.

Daniel shook his head. 'I can't remember,' he admitted. 'It's London somewhere, I have to get to Richmond Underground station later tonight.'

'Dad will be able to find out,' the Ravenclaw reasoned. 'If he's on the Floo Network.'

'Yeah,' Daniel confirmed. 'He is.'

'Cool,' Toby smiled. 'I think we should do something just after Christmas,' he suggested, and the boys' conversation quickly turned to their plans for the forthcoming holiday. Thoughts of parties and presents were enough to distract the first-years from the threatening letter Nathan had received the previous evening – until the sound of talons on glass alerted the boys to the return of Albus' owl.

'Kjeld!' The bird's owner stood up, hurrying across to the compartment's window, loosening its bolts and letting the messenger hop inside as the engine slowed down to take on board extra water at a rural station. The owl hooted softly, nestling into the eleven-year-old's chest as Albus reached down to untie the message in the bird's claws. 'Has anyone got any treats, or something?'

'Yeah, in my trunk.' Alexander stood up, climbing onto the cushions of his seat before rummaging around in the luggage rack to answer the other boy's question.

'Thanks, mate,' Albus acknowledged the Ravenclaw, taking his friend's offering and feeding the little owl, before finishing the job of unfolding Charlie's reply. 'Do you want me to read it out?' He glanced towards Nathan.

The blond boy nodded. 'Okay.'

Albus cleared his throat.

 _Thanks for warning me. It was in Assembly this morning that they tried it, some guy called Kevin pretending to be from a charity. I didn't fall for it though._

 _I have to go out tomorrow, to go and see Connor. He is in hospital in Oxford because he got hit by a car yesterday. I bet it was them again. Dad is taking me, so I will be alright. See you on Sunday._

Albus folded the letter in half, passing it wordlessly across to Nathan, and leaving the compartment to fall into a tense silence. The sound of the steam train's whistle echoed through the carriage's still-open window before Daniel broke the quiet.

'Connor…' He breathed. 'Those bastards!' His fists clenched. 'Those fucking bastards! What did he ever do to them? What did he ever do to _anyone_?'

Scorpius swallowed, before measuring his words carefully as he spoke. 'How do you even know it was them?'

'Are you calling Charlie a liar?' This time it was Nathan's turn to snap. 'Who else is it going to be?'

'Nath, leave it,' Louis' voice trembled. 'That won't help,' he glanced towards his cousin.

Albus understood. 'Yeah,' he added, backing up the redhead's point. 'Lou's right. Arguing with each other won't do anyone any good.'

Nathan nodded, slumping backwards onto his seat as his housemates' words of warning registered in his mind. 'Sorry,' he mumbled.

'It's alright, mate,' Louis reassured him.

Daniel grunted. 'Connor isn't, though, is he?' He thumped the chair arm at the end of the compartment. 'Fucking hell!'

'He'll be okay,' Albus spoke up. 'Charlie would have said if he wasn't, right Nath?'

'Right,' Nathan answered without thinking.

Daniel shook his head. 'This is getting stupid,' he declared. 'Even if Connor isn't seriously hurt, then someone else is going to be soon! We have to tell somebody. We have to tell an adult.'

Alexander shuddered. 'Are you sure?' He asked. 'You know what will have to happen. Your friends will have to be Obliviated, and even then it might not be enough, these people might still be after them.' He took a deep breath. 'Then we'll all get into trouble for hiding them for so long…'

'That's what _you're_ worried about, isn't it?' Daniel taunted. 'Getting into trouble for the first time in your life! Well, I don't care about getting into trouble, not if it helps save my friends!'

'Hey!' Toby leapt to his friend's defence. 'We've been in the same House as Miranda and Rose _all year_! Do you think that's been easy? Listening to them call us snake charmers, and everything else? Knowing we can't get our own back because Rose's mum is a teacher? You… you…' He flushed, suddenly realising that he had got to his feet.

Daniel snorted as he watched the tawny-haired boy blush. 'What's wrong? You scared to swear at me?'

'No!' The Ravenclaw shrieked, sweat forming on his forehead. 'You f… f…'

'SHUT UP!' Nathan's yell silenced the carriage, and Toby glanced, gratefully, at the Slytherin as he slipped back into his seat. 'We just said there's no point in arguing with each other, so why are we still doing it? We're all on the same side, right? We all want to stop whoever it is who's doing this, so let's stop fighting about it and think about something that we can really do to _help_.'

Toby nodded. 'Sorry,' he mumbled.

'It's fine,' the blond Slytherin acknowledged. 'You were only standing up for your friends, just like Dan wants to do.'

'Yeah,' Daniel shifted on his seat. 'Sorry, Toby.'

'I'll swear at him for you, if you want,' Felix lightened the boys' mood. 'Which word do you want me to call him?'

Toby stifled a laugh. 'It's alright,' he murmured.

'Fine,' Felix grinned. 'I'll choose… you're a dickhead sometimes, Daniel.'

Daniel stuck his tongue out.

'I thought you got away quite lightly there, Dan,' Albus shared the other boys' joke.

'Yeah, me too!' the other Slytherin laughed, before his voice turned serious again. 'Nathan's right, though, we have to do something,' he exhaled, 'and if no one can come up with a better idea, then I'm telling Professor Bennett tonight.'

Greg Bennett pointed his wand at one final pile of essays, sending them skidding across his office desk and into a cabinet on the opposite side of the room. 'That,' he announced, 'is that, until next year.' He grinned, satisfied, taking hold of a bulky suitcase and, with one last look around, vanishing into the Sunday morning air.

'Good morning!' He called, cheerfully, moments later, as he rematerialised in the sitting room at 6B, Flint Avenue. 'Nice that you're up to welcome me home!' He raised his voice, sinking down on the long black leather of the sofa, reaching for a remote control and cajoling a television set into life as a newsreader announced the ten o'clock headlines. 'Oh, Sky Sports News, how I've missed you…'

'Sir!' A loud crash from the door behind him jerked the teacher's attention back into the apartment. 'Professor Bennett!'

'Dan?' The man blinked, turning round as he saw the eleven-year-old, silhouetted in a dark bedroom doorway. 'You alright?'

The boy shook his head, still in his pyjamas as he rushed into the front room to stand between Greg and the television set. 'It's Connor,' the boy gasped, 'and Charlie, Nathan's friend.'

Greg stared back at the first-year. 'What about them, Dan?' He asked, gently.

'They're in danger!' Daniel turned away, feeling his eyes suddenly beginning to prickle. 'They're in danger,' he shivered.

'What?' The teacher echoed, shutting off the background disruption of the television. 'Why are they in danger?'

Daniel took a deep breath, steeling himself as he made eye contact with the man again. 'Don't you know anything about them?'

'No,' Greg admitted. 'I know you guys wrote to them, but that's all…'

'The Oxford bombs!' Daniel blustered. 'They were there; they saw them! Connor saw a van, too, with "Just Like Magic" written on the side, but nobody else could remember it, and no one would believe him. Albus thinks everyone else got Obliviated, and he's right!'

Greg's mouth dropped open. 'Dan,' he counselled, 'are you sure…'

'Yes!' The boy stopped worrying about his burning eyes. 'I know it! Then they saw the van again, in Ascot, and this time it was Connor who got Obliviated, cause Charlie was hiding and saw it happen. Then there was a presentation at Assembly yesterday at Charlie's school, by someone called "Just Like Magic", and Connor got hit by a car. It's all connected, just like the Daily Prophet says!'

'Daniel,' the teacher reasoned, 'just because something's in the Prophet, it doesn't mean…'

'I know that!' The eleven-year-old snapped, furiously. 'I saw what they wrote about Louis, I know that's all lies, but this is true, I swear it!'

'Dan…'

'What happened to _Slytherins Stick Together_?' Daniel refused to listen to the adult's moderation. 'Or was that just something you said? You're as bad as my mum was,' he yelled. 'She never fucking believed me, either!' Daniel picked up a cushion from the end of the sofa, hurling it at the teacher before storming back into the bedroom.

Greg winced, holding up a hand to block the boy's angry throw.

'Oh, yeah,' Daniel paused, his voice suddenly cold as he turned back around. 'What about the letter that Nathan got sent, promising they'd get Charlie next time, and saying "Just Like Magic" on the back? Was that a fake, too?' He reached out to slam the door, only for Greg's wandwork to freeze both boy and carpentry mid-motion.

'Daniel,' he swallowed, releasing the eleven-year-old from his trance having stood up to halt the door's dangerous swing. 'What letter was this?'

'You promise you'll believe me?' Daniel glared up through his brown fringe, suddenly reminding the teacher of the withdrawn boy he'd met four months earlier on the outskirts of Oxford.

Greg nodded. 'I promise.'

Daniel relaxed instantly, stumbling back onto the unmade bed behind him. 'It was at the Christmas dinner, on the last day of term.'

'What did it say?' Greg sat down beside the eleven-year-old, letting the boy lean against his shoulder.

'Just that,' Daniel explained. 'Your friend got lucky today, but we'll get him next time,' he swallowed. 'It was made of ripped-up newspapers.'

The man shook his head. 'Why didn't you say something earlier?'

Daniel's head dropped. 'We didn't want Connor and Charlie to get Obliviated again.'

'Oh,' Greg let his arm rest on Daniel's shoulders. 'Did you tell them anything…?'

'No,' the boy retorted, defiantly. 'They don't know anything about Hogwarts, or about magic. Except,' he swallowed, 'Albus sent Charlie his owl last night after Nathan got that letter. He said it was specially trained.'

Greg smiled, wryly. 'Do you know where Charlie is going to be now?'

'At home,' Daniel answered. 'Ascot, right? Nathan said he was going to see him…'

The man sighed. 'And make themselves an even bigger target, if you guys are right about all of this?'

Daniel's eyes widened. 'Oh, shit…'

'Yeah,' Greg nodded, springing to his feet. 'Shit.' The teacher took a handful of brief strides towards the edge of the room. 'Get dressed,' he instructed, before thumping on the door of his best friend's bedroom. 'Theo!' He hollered. 'Get moving! Field trip!'

Half an hour earlier, Nathan had stood, nervously, at the gates of Charlie's house, having retraced a familiar route through the back streets of Ascot. 'Charlie,' he held down a silver button on the metal of a security keypad. 'It's me,' he swallowed. 'Nathan.'

'Nathan!' Charlie's voice echoed excitably in response, and the wrought-iron gates edged open as his reply crackled through a tinny speaker. By the time the blond boy had made his way up the gravel drive to the Rileys' front door, his old friend was waiting to greet him. 'Nath,' he repeated, holding out a tentative hand. 'I'm sorry about the…'

'Forget it,' Nathan cut him off, taking the offering without hesitation. 'It's alright.'

Charlie smiled, broadly. 'Do you want to come in?' He asked, but Nathan grimaced.

'I don't know,' he bit his lip. 'If anyone followed me, if anyone knows I'm here, then we're just a sitting target, aren't we?'

Charlie's smile faded. 'What do you think we should do, then…?'

'Maybe go to the park?' The blond boy suggested. 'If we're in public, we'll be safer.'

'Yeah,' Charlie nodded, 'you're right.' He ducked back inside his house, snatching a warm coat before grabbing a pair of trainers from a low rack by the door. 'How's your new school, then?'

Nathan smiled. 'It's great,' he answered, honestly. 'How's Ascot?'

The brown-haired boy rolled his eyes. 'What do you think?'

'Shit?'

'Yeah,' Charlie snorted, 'but when did _you_ start swearing like that?'

'Last summer,' Nathan replied, drily. 'After a cricket game…'

Charlie blushed, beginning to stumble over a reply before his friend's laughter saved him from another awkward apology.

'It doesn't matter, anyway,' Nathan continued, 'I'd have learned it at Hogs… at Merchiston,' he corrected himself, hurriedly.

'Hogs?' The muggle-born boy hesitated.

'It's, um, a nickname,' Nathan lied. 'For the first-year boarding house.'

'Oh, alright.' Charlie relaxed. 'So what's the best bit, then?'

Nathan paused, considering his answer. 'My friends, I guess,' he replied, 'and my boarding house. History's fun, too,' he added.

Charlie nodded. 'Well I got banned from playing rugby for the rest of term after hitting Denness,' he noted, grumpily, 'and the A's have lost like every game since then. None of the others can tackle!'

'Who's playing at centre now?'

'They keep changing,' Charlie shook his head. 'I don't know who they ended up with. What team are you in?'

'Oh, um,' Nathan stalled again, giving himself a moment to concoct another lie. 'B's,' he invented. 'Outside.'

'Your A's must be good, then.'

Nathan flushed. 'How's Connor?' He changed the subject, hurriedly. 'Did you see him again yesterday?'

Charlie's mood darkened immediately. 'Yeah,' the muggle boy muttered. 'He's still unconscious, but the nurse said some of his signs were improving. I sat there for like an hour, talking to him, cause they said it would do him good.'

'Shit,' Nathan swore again, and this time his friend didn't comment. 'I never knew it was that bad…'

'Well it is,' Charlie confirmed. 'They don't know how long he'll be like that.'

Nathan shivered. 'We should tell Daniel,' he observed, 'he'll want to go and see him.'

'I'm going back this afternoon,' Charlie noted, picking his way along an overgrown track that marked a familiar back entrance to their local park. 'Dad's driving again. You can come if you want.'

'Yes,' Nathan answered, instantly. 'I'll come. Charlie…?' The blond boy stumbled to an untidy halt, wondering why his friend had suddenly stopped moving. 'What's up?'

'That graffiti,' the other boy swallowed. 'Like you mentioned. Sons of Walpurgis,' he mumbled, pointing out a white tag on the brick wall of a low-slung toilet block on the opposite side of a footpath inside the park. 'Ouch!' He yelled out, snatching his right arm back towards himself and sucking a fresh wound on the back of his hand.

'Charlie!' Nathan echoed.

The other boy grunted. 'Just a bramble,' he winced. 'I wasn't looking.' He shook his wrist, pushing his way out of the bushes.

'That graffiti,' The blond boy clutched for the wand in the pocket of his coat. 'It's still wet,' he observed. 'Look, it's dripping. Look out…'

Charlie blinked. 'What for?' He queried, his voice rising fearfully. 'Nath, what's going on?'

'Shh…' Nathan hissed, his eyes flicking around the familiar surroundings. 'Quiet…'

'Nathan!' Charlie began to panic. 'What's happening?' He grabbed his friend's shoulders, before letting out a scream of terror as a loud bang echoed from inside the toilets. 'That was just like it was in Oxford!' He shouted. 'We've got to get out of here!'

The blond boy shook his head, grabbing hold of his friend's wrist with his free hand. 'Easier said than done, I think,' he swallowed as a masked figure stepped out from a door at the end of the squat building, levelling its wand as it advanced towards the two boys. Nathan shut his eyes, recalling the first time he had seen a spell being cast. 'Sorry, Charlie,' he apologised, drawing his own wand as the other wizard aimed to strike. 'PROTEGO!'


	23. The Borthwick Ward

Nathan shut his eyes, concentrating all of his effort into holding the shield charm, and keeping his left hand locked around his friend's wrist all the while. It had been one of the earliest things the first-years had learned in Defence Against the Dark Arts and, with the memory of the back-garden hailstorm firmly in his mind, Nathan had practised it religiously. All the same, he couldn't remember holding one for more than ten minutes, and he didn't have a back-up plan.

'Nath…' Charlie shivered. 'What's happening…? Who is that…? What are you doing…? What's going on?' He blinked, feeling petrified tears filling his eyes as the mask of the other wizard stared impassively back. 'We're going to die…' The eleven-year-old gazed, open-mouthed, at the sight unfolding in front of him, even as part of his mind willed himself to tear his eyes away from the scene.

A pink and purple orb pulsed vividly around the two children, its energy flowing from the wand that shook in Nathan's hand as the blond boy struggled to hold it steady. Less than ten yards away, the masked man, dressed all in black, stood bolt upright as he attacked, sending multicoloured bolts of light from his own wand towards Nathan's defences.

Every curse that hit the shield charm made its lights waver and its colours dim, but with sweat beginning to bead on his forehead, and his teeth gritted grimly together, Nathan was still holding his ground. By the time Charlie saw two men sprint through a set of iron gates and turn towards the confrontation, the shield's glow had almost completely faded. The muggle boy watched Nathan's body fall limply onto the path in front of him, before a blue beam shot through the space where the shield had been seconds earlier.

'Expelliarmus!' Theo thrust his wand arm outwards, catching the attacker's weapon in his other hand as the masked man turned around.

'Incarcerous!' Greg reacted, following his friend's example and conjuring a thick set of ropes that wrapped themselves around the unsuspecting wizard, knocking the man to the ground. 'Theo,' he panted, 'did you see what happened?'

The other man nodded. 'Shield charm,' he swallowed. 'The blond kid had one up, but it was fading… he looked like he passed out just as I got here. Then the other boy took a bolt of something to the head just as the shield went down… I don't know what it was.'

'Do you have any idea what spells do to muggle kids?' Greg walked slowly across to the fallen boys, leaning down beside each one as he checked their pulses. 'They're still with us, at least,' he noted, looking up as heard the scramble of Daniel's footsteps arriving in the distance.

'Nathan!' The boy yelled out, cutting across the damp grass between the gates and the stricken children before dropping to his knees beside his housemate. 'What happened, sir?' He asked, breathlessly, resting his hands against the blond boy's sweat-covered forehead. 'Is he, is he…?'

'He's exhausted, Dan.' Greg lowered his voice. 'He's just given absolutely everything he could to a shield charm to try and save himself and his friend.' He sighed. 'We got here just in time, mate,' the teacher observed. 'Seconds later, that bastard would have got them both.'

Daniel shivered. 'What are we going to do now?' He looked up at the teacher, his eyes wide.

'You're going to stay here with Theo for the moment,' Greg decided. 'Stand guard, whilst I take these two to St. Mungo's, and get the Aurors in.' The man shook his head, taking the two unconscious boys' hands in his own. 'Some Christmas holiday this is…'

Daniel gulped a deep breath of winter air, watching his teacher vanish from the ground in front of him, and backtracked nervously towards Theo.

'Alright, mate?' The man clapped him gently on the shoulder.

'Yeah… yeah. I think.' The eleven-year-old forced a weak smile, and Theo ruffled his hair in acknowledgement.

'Good man,' the Quidditch player responded simply, turning his attention back to their masked captive. 'As for you,' he sneered. 'I think it's time you played Sleeping Lions.' He levelled his wand. 'Immobulus.'

'Aurors,' Greg breathed, moments later, as he re-appeared in the emergency wing of St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, the two children still unconscious by his side. 'We need Aurors. North Ascot. Laburnum Park, I think… These two boys just got attacked by a guy in a mask…' The teacher looked up, taking in the brown cowls of the Healer behind the reception desk, and watched the man's face suddenly whiten as he lifted his wand, letting a stream of white-blue light burst skywards.

Before the teacher had time to imagine what the receptionist's wandwork could mean, another three Healers had appeared alongside him, two of them hurrying to the lifeless children whilst the oldest of the trio headed towards him, parchment in hand and self-inking quill at the ready.

'Nathan Llewellyn… I think he's exhausted,' Greg guessed the other man's question, pointing out the blond boy. 'He was holding a shield charm until he couldn't do it anymore… and then Charlie, Riley I think, copped a hex full-on. Not sure what.'

The Healer nodded. 'Any more casualties?'

Greg shook his head.

'What is your relationship to the two boys?'

'I teach at Hogwarts,' he sighed, 'but…'

The Healer cut him off. 'Have their parents been notified?'

'No,' Greg began, pausing to give the other man a chance to interrupt again. 'I'll do that,' he offered, and the Healer nodded.

'He's right,' one of the junior Healers looked up from his crouch beside Nathan's body. 'His magical imprint is very faint.'

'Same here,' his colleague echoed.

'No time to lose, then,' the senior Healer made his decision. 'Fourth floor; Borthwick Ward. I assume we will see you later?'

Greg nodded, dumbfounded, before the three Healers faded out of his vision, all oblivious to the stunned expression that had crossed the teacher's face just seconds earlier. 'Charlie…?' He mouthed. 'Magical imprint…?' Greg shook his head. 'Never be surprised,' he remembered Professor McGonagall's first-year advice, before bracing himself for a return trip to Ascot, clenching his hand around his wand and remembering Destination, Deliberation and Determination.

Two purple-robed Aurors were hunched over the rope-bound body in Laburnum Park, whilst a third stood beside Theo and Daniel, his wand out and pointed at the blond man's chest. All three Ministry men turned in an instant as they heard the tell-tale crack of Apparition.

'Hands in the air!' The lone Auror commanded, aiming his wand towards Greg as one of his colleagues turned to cover Theo. 'Ministry of Magic!'

Greg nodded, following their instructions without argument. 'I know,' he swallowed. 'I've just been at St Mungo's. I asked them to call you.'

'Very well,' the Auror conceded. 'Do you know these people?' He jabbed his wand towards Theo and Daniel, who couldn't help but flinch backwards.

'Yes!' The teacher flushed. 'One of them's been my best friend since school, and the other's an eleven-year-old boy, who you're scaring out of his bloody mind!'

The Auror gritted his teeth. 'Your name is…?'

'Greg Bennett!' He took a deep breath. 'Hogwarts. Professor of Transfiguration. Head of Slytherin House. Do you want a pound of flesh, too?' He glared back at the other man. ' _Pound of Flesh_ ,' he repeated. 'From _The Merchant of Venice_ , by William Shakespeare. Did I mention I was muggle-born… just like my friends?' He held his stare. 'Now can you put your wand down, and get on with working out which scumbag tried to kill two first-year kids?'

The Auror lowered his wand. 'Well, we'll need a statement from each of you…'

'Daniel saw nothing,' the teacher's tone of voice didn't change as he marched over to his pupil. 'Theo and I will tell you what we saw, but this lad's been through enough right now.'

'Well… then… I suppose we can proceed with that, Mr Bennett…'

'I'll go first,' Theo interrupted, watching Daniel shuffle towards to his teacher, letting Greg rest a gentle hand on his shoulder.

Greg smiled. 'Thanks, mate,' he nodded as his friend took a handful of steps beyond the boy's earshot. 'Danny…' His voice softened. 'Sorry…'

'It's okay, sir,' Daniel mumbled. 'It's not your fault.' He cleared his throat, managing a weak smile. 'I hope you never get mad with me like that.'

'I hope you never give me a reason to get mad at you like that,' Greg pulled the eleven-year-old closer, letting Daniel lean against his side. 'You've got yelled out at before, haven't you, Dan?'

The boy nodded, and the teacher sighed.

'Well,' Greg vowed, 'I can promise you that I won't do that to you unless I've got absolutely no other choice.'

Daniel sniffled. 'Thank you, sir…'

'Do you want to go and tell Albus what's happened?' Greg sought to change the subject, and Daniel nodded.

' _After_ we go and see Nathan and Charlie in hospital, though,' he insisted, steeling himself as looked up into the teacher's eyes, and biting back hot tears as he spoke.

'That's fine,' the teacher agreed. 'We'll Floo you in from St. Mungo's.'

'Have you used the Floo before, Dan?' Greg led the eleven-year-old to a row of glowing green fireplaces on the topmost floor of St Mungo's Hospital, opposite the quiet rattle of cutlery and low thrum of conversation that echoed from the building's coffee shop and restaurant.

Daniel shook his head, before brushing his loose fringe away from his eyes. 'No,' he admitted. 'Al and Louis have talked about it, though.'

The teacher nodded, reaching for a small handful of the dusty powder and lobbing it onto the nearest hearth. 'Say the address, Dan, and hold your head in the flames,' he patted the boy on the shoulder. 'You won't get burnt, mate.'

Daniel smiled, weakly. 'Okay,' he took a deep breath as he turned to the fireplace. '12, Grimmauld Place!' The boy ducked forward, pushing his head into the fireplace before blinking, hurriedly, as his eyes showed him the other end of the connection. 'Al!' He yelled, recognising his friend's face.

'Ow!' The black-haired boy covered his ears, before turning to face the source of the noise and laughing. 'Hey, Dan!' He grinned. 'You don't need to shout, you know. Just speak normally.'

'Oh,' the muggle-born blushed, although the flames didn't show his embarrassment. 'Sorry,' he whispered, as his friend called down the hallway of his own house, explaining to his mother why exactly she could hear her son's conversation from the other side of the building.

Albus smiled again. 'It doesn't matter. Hey,' he continued, eagerly. 'Do you want to come through? James is out, and I'm not doing anything until…'

'No,' Daniel cut off his friend abruptly, and Albus' face fell as he heard the other boy's sombre tone of voice. 'I can't,' he apologised. 'It's Nathan… and his friend, Charlie. They got attacked. They're in St Mungo's.'

'Shit…' Albus stammered. 'What… what happened?

Daniel shook his head. 'I don't know, not properly. I'm there, now, with Professor Bennett. They're both unconscious. I was, I was just wondering if…'

'I'll come,' Albus announced, guessing his friend's question and answering instinctively. 'Have you told Louis?'

'No,' Daniel grimaced. 'I don't know his address.'

'It's fine,' Albus assured him. 'I'll get him. We'll meet you there as soon as we can.'

The muggle-born boy managed a thin smile. 'Thanks, Al,' he nodded. 'See ya.' Daniel lifted his head up and out of the fireplace as the green flames waned to embers. 'He's coming,' the boy reported, 'as soon as he tells Louis.'

'MUM!' At the other end of the Floo call, Albus sprung to his feet, calling up the narrow hallway of the old terraced house. 'Is Louis back at Shell Cottage yet, or are they still at the Burrow?'

'Still at the Burrow, I think,' Ginny Weasley's voice called back, answering her younger son. 'Why do you need to know?'

Albus sighed. 'Cause one of our friends… his best friend… is in St Mungo's,' he replied, matter-of-factly, 'and we need to go see him!' The eleven-year-old checked his progress down the hallway, turning back to the marble of the Georgian fireplace and grabbing his own handful of powder. 'The Burrow!'

Albus coughed on the dust around the heavy stone fireplace in the old kitchen at his grandparents' house, stumbling out of the hearth and into the low, timbered room.

'Albus!' A French accent pulled on the sound of the vowels in the boy's name, and a blond woman spun gracefully towards him. 'Mon cher…'

'Tante Fleur,' Albus returned the French greeting of his aunt, and Louis' mother. 'Salut,' he managed. 'Ça va?'

'Oui, ça va bien, merci. Et toi?' Fleur indulged the boy's weak French, and the eleven-year-old grimaced as he struggled to come up with an appropriate reply.

'Oui, bien,' he echoed, before opting to switch to English. 'Where's Louis?'

'In the back room,' Fleur's English was much better than Albus' French, but her native tongue still flowed around the words, joining their consonants together. 'With Rose.'

The boy cursed to himself. 'Merci, Tante Fleur,' he made one last effort at the foreign language before excusing himself from the kitchen. He hurried along the narrow arch of a corridor that wound its way beneath a plastered ceiling, before forcing the oak door at its far end open without a knock. 'Louis…' He noticed his friend, curled up in the corner of an old armchair, holding up a tattered hardback book over his face.

'Al?' The redheaded boy blinked, allowing his cousin a moment's chance to notice his darkened eyes, before a wide grin spread across his face. 'Hi!' He snapped his book shut. 'How come you're here?'

Albus glanced around the room, noticing Rose's brooding presence on an opposing sofa. 'Just wanted to come over, that's all.' He swallowed. 'Not interrupting anything, am I?'

Rose rolled her eyes extravagantly. 'What makes you think I'd be bothered enough to talk to that _creature_?'

'I don't know,' Albus forced levity into his next question. 'Maybe you're under orders from Skeeter?'

His cousin took the bait. 'I don't take orders from her!' Rose snapped, jolting to her feet.

'Could've fooled me,' Albus shot back.

'Me too,' his housemate added. 'Unless she's taking orders from you, which makes you even more of a bitch than I thought you were,' Louis stood up, crossing the room to stand alongside the other boy. 'You never called me a half-breed before.'

Albus shook his head.

'What makes you think you're so much better, Albus?' Rose spat. ' _You_ were the first one to tell her he was a Veela.'

The black-haired boy reddened. 'I know,' he mumbled, 'but I know I fucked up! I know I was being an idiot… but you're too fucking proud to ever admit that you might be wrong.' His voice turned cold. 'I can't believe I was ever bothered about what you might think of me!'

'Maybe you're still wrong?' His cousin blustered.

'Still wrong?' Albus shouted. 'What about? _Skeeter?_ Don't you remember that note Xander found?'

'You could have planted it on her.' Rose held her nerve, her voice staying level. 'You're a Slytherin, remember.'

'Oh, fuck off,' he turned around, catching his housemate on the shoulder. 'Come on, Louis,' he turned, 'I'm not listening to this shit.'

Louis shrugged, following the other boy without argument before Albus slammed the door of the back room, continuing on his way back through the Burrow without bothering to check whether it had stayed shut behind him. 'Al,' the redhead counselled, 'don't let her get to you. It's what she wants. She's been trying it all morning.'

Albus stopped. 'You're right, Lou,' he sighed. 'It's just…' The eleven-year-old hesitated, before taking a deep breath and lowering his voice. 'There's another reason I've come here. It's Nathan. He's in St Mungo's. He just got attacked by someone. Him and his muggle friend.'

Louis' face turned a deathly pale. 'Oh, shit…' he stuttered. 'What…? Who…?'

'I don't know,' his cousin shook his head, sadly. 'Dan is there, with Professor Bennett. He just Flooed us. I told him we'd go and see him… I mean… I thought you would…'

Louis nodded, cutting his cousin off before he could stumble over any more of his question. 'Yes,' he insisted. 'Of course. Come on, let's go.'

A handful of powder later, the two boys had stumbled out of a fireplace onto the crowded ground floor of St Mungo's Hospital.

'Have you been here before, Lou?' Albus asked, warily, as he glanced around the waiting room, turning his nose up at some of the bizarre and grotesque maladies that had afflicted some of the patients.

Louis grimaced. 'Not that I can remember,' he whispered. 'I was in a lot when I was a baby, because,' he grimaced, 'well, you know…'

'Right,' Albus acknowledged, noticing his cousin's unease. 'I get it, mate' he nodded, and the other boy returned a shy smile.

'Thanks, Al.' Louis changed the subject. 'Can you see Dan or Professor Bennett anywhere?'

Albus craned his neck, scouring the waiting room for any sign of his friend or teacher. 'Yeah, look,' he pointed towards one end of the lobby. 'Over there.' He waved both hands above his head. 'Dan!'

'Hi, Al,' the other first-year acknowledged his friend. 'Louis. Thanks for coming.'

Albus nodded. 'That's alright.'

'Morning, boys,' Greg greeted the two children. 'I take it you want to go and see Nathan and Charlie?' The teacher sensed the moment had come to take charge, and his suggestion was met with a quiet murmur of agreement from the three boys. 'Alright,' the teacher assented, 'but afterwards, I think we need to talk.'

'Fine,' Albus swallowed, trying to force a thin smile onto his face that his eyes obviously didn't reflect.

Greg's voice softened as he noticed the boy's unease. 'We _are_ going to work out what's happening here, Al,' he insisted, 'but whatever happens, we're still all on the same side. Remember that, mate.'

'Thanks, sir,' Albus hated the way that he heard his own voice waver, but managed a more genuine smile as he felt Greg's reassuring hand rest against his shoulder. 'Slytherins Stick Together, right?'

'Right,' Greg echoed. 'Come on, then,' he clapped his hands together, 'fourth floor. The Borthwick Ward.' He set off, leading the small party as it wound its way along the corridors and passageways of the vast hospital, but it didn't take long for the teacher to notice that Louis had begun to lag behind the other two boys. Greg slowed his stride, dropping in line with the redheaded boy, and allowed Daniel to take the lead in his stead. 'Alright, Lou?'

Louis jerked his head upwards, his fringe jolting away from his eyes as he twisted his neck around. 'Um…' his reply stalled immediately, and he looked back down at his feet.

'You're Nathan's best friend, right?' The teacher asked, anticipating a simple answer.

'I guess,' the redhead muttered his answer without looking up. 'It depends if you count Charlie or not.'

Greg swallowed an involuntary sigh as he heard the boy's downbeat response. 'It's pretty tough right now, isn't it?' He changed the subject. 'It's hard to work out exactly what you're feeling.'

'Yeah…' Louis managed a one-word answer, leaving the teacher to continue in monologue.

'I remember my own first year,' he recalled, 'when sometimes it felt like there was way too much going on for just one person to deal with. Discovering magic for the first time, keeping up with my lessons, being on the Quidditch team, trying to make friends with the other Houses, coping with homework, and then everything with the Wild Hunt…' He took a breath. 'You're never the only one who feels like that, though. There's always someone who's been there before, who understands what it's like… no matter what you feel like, no matter how bad it seems.'

'Yeah,' Louis echoed. 'Nathan did that,' his voice stuttered, 'after the Quidditch game, just before you came in… I said I was a freak, but he just said that reminded him of the first time we met, and the first thing he ever said to me…'

'It sounds like he's a pretty damn good friend to me,' Greg suggested, and the eleven-year-old didn't argue.

'Better than me,' Louis mumbled.

Greg clapped an arm onto the redhead's shoulders. 'Says the boy spending the first day of his holiday visiting a hospital to see someone who won't even realise he's there…'

Louis looked up, sharply. 'What?' He blinked. 'What happened?'

The teacher lowered his voice. 'How much has Dan told you?'

'Just… just that he got attacked,' Louis swallowed. 'Nothing else. I didn't… I didn't know he was, he was… knocked out…'

Greg sighed. 'I think there's a lot of things that we don't know at the minute, Lou,' he shook his head, 'and I reckon you guys might even know more about all this than I do.' The teacher looked to his left, wondering what kind of reaction he might provoke from the boy. 'Why would someone go after a first-year?'

'I don't know,' Louis looked back at his feet, shivering for a moment as he heard the man's question.

' _Just Like Magic_ , right?' Greg forced a casual tone into his voice as the small group turned to head up their final flight of stairs, and Louis almost tripped over the very first step.

'What?' He blurted loudly, grabbing for the nearest banister. 'How, how, what… I…' The eleven-year-old clutched at the masonry, earning himself several disapproving glances from the pictures of healers past that adorned the stairwell. 'Sorry,' he murmured, composing himself. 'How did you know…?'

The teacher held out a hand, helping his pupil back to his feet. 'Daniel told me,' Greg explained, simply, 'and a good job too, or else I've no idea where Nathan would be right now.'

'I'm sorry, sir,' Louis repeated, his face reddening. 'I didn't realise, I, I…'

'No one else did either, mate,' Greg slung an arm around the boy's shoulders, 'so don't go blaming yourself, alright?'

The boy nodded, slowly.

'Good man,' Greg acknowledged. 'Now, he continued, catching the other two first-years as they waited beside the wooden double doors that led to the Borthwick Ward, 'brace yourselves. This won't be easy.'

A single corridor, bathed in a jaundiced yellow light, stretched into the distance and away from the boys and their teacher as the heavy doors swung shut behind them. Each side of the room was filled with a single file of metalled beds, their headboards touching the whitewashed walls and their occupants all but motionless.

'They're all kids…' Albus' mouth dropped open as he took in his surroundings, 'and they're all… they're all…'

Greg took a small step towards the black-haired boy. 'Al,' he pleaded, 'keep your voice down, mate. This is the children's intensive care ward. Every patient in here is assigned their own individual Healer, so that their condition can be monitored around the clock. Nathan and Charlie are at the end.'

Albus nodded, mutely, falling into step behind Greg as the teacher led the small party down the ward. Louis followed his cousin, his right hand clapped across his mouth in dismayed shock, and Daniel brought up the rear. Nathan lay, his eyes shut and his features frozen, beneath a simple white blanket, whilst a brown-robed man watched hawkishly for any movement.

'Lucas,' Greg greeted the Healer on familiar terms. 'Any news, mate?'

The Healer, a pale, red-headed man with a sharp, well-defined jaw shook his head sadly. 'Nothing,' he grimaced. 'Not a movement, neither of them.' He glanced across to the opposite bunk, where another man stood guard beside Charlie. 'Breathing's fine; pulse is fine. Nothing else.'

Greg sighed. 'There's something about a first year in that place that never goes to plan, isn't there?' He reflected, before changing the subject slightly. 'Thanks for keeping an eye on Nathan.'

'Are you kidding?' Lucas smiled. 'Slytherins Stick Together, remember?'

'I remember,' Greg reflected a shadow of his old friend's smile. 'Slytherins Stick Together, _always_.' He turned to face Daniel. 'Just like I said,' he emphasised. 'Anyway, Lucas, there might be more to this than you might think,' he lowered his voice. 'Charlie over there… he's a muggle. Or at least he was when he woke up this morning, anyway.'

'What?' Lucas gaped.

'Nathan's shield went down, and Charlie took the curse, so I brought them both here. The guys in reception said his magical signature was low… and they'd gone before I realised what they'd said.'

Lucas shook his head, slowly. 'Never be surprised,' he whispered. 'You were right about that, mate. Merlin…'

'I'll keep you in the loop, mate,' the teacher assured his friend, 'but Al,' he turned to face the first-year. 'This might well end up with your dad getting involved.'

The black-haired boy nodded, slowly. 'Oh…' he mumbled, his shoulders sagging.

'It's okay, mate,' Daniel nudged his friend. 'Slytherins Stick Together, remember.'


	24. Dominoes

A terrace of small, private rooms occupied the opposite side of the fourth-floor corridor to the Borthwick Ward at St Mungo's Hospital, and it was within one of these cubicles that Albus, Louis and Daniel found themselves waiting in heavy silence for an adult's return.

'Dad's going to kill me,' Albus blurted out, unable to stand the silence any longer. 'This is worse than anything James ever did.' The eleven-year-old pulled his legs up against his chest as he hunched forward on the edge of a low chair.

Louis murmured a quiet agreement. 'Vic and Dom never got in trouble like this,' he added, head between his hands as he slumped on a cheap plastic seat. 'What if we get expelled?'

Daniel forced himself into a half-sitting position on top of the rigid mattress where he had tried, and failed, to find a moment's rest. 'We're not getting expelled,' he argued. 'What have we done wrong?'

Albus grunted. 'We're about to get questioned by _Aurors_ ,' he emphasised the word. 'Don't you get how serious that is?'

'We haven't done anything wrong,' Daniel repeated. 'How bad can it be?'

'We broke the statute!' Albus exclaimed. 'People have gone to Azkaban for that!'

Daniel shot upright. 'We sent Charlie _one owl_ , to try and save his life, and someone tried to kill him this morning anyway. It's not _us_ they're going to be sending to Azkaban!'

'Dan,' Louis interrupted, coughing as he heard his own weak voice. 'Dan,' he tried again, 'remember Al's Dad is Head Auror.'

'Oh, yeah,' Daniel swallowed. 'Shit,' he murmured. 'Sorry, mate… I forgot.'

Albus lifted his head up, staring back across the yellow light of the room towards his friend. 'Do you get it _now_?' He asked, sarcastically, and Daniel nodded, before the room faded back into silence once again: a silence that persisted until the wooden door creaked open and Greg's head peered around the corner.

'Boys,' the teacher greeted his pupils simply. 'Mind if I have a word?' He waited for a reply, before edging into the room, quietly closing the door behind him as no response came. 'I've just been talking to the Auror in charge of the case,' he explained, 'and I don't reckon he knows anything more than I do… if that.'

Greg's eyes flickered around the spartan room, from one boy to the next, as the eleven-year-olds stared warily back at him.

'You guys _do_ know something, though,' he continued. 'Dan, those things you told me this morning… You couldn't have said them if you didn't.'

The muggle-born boy shifted uncomfortably on the heavy mattress as his friends' stares turned towards him. 'I had to,' he murmured, before his voice grew louder. 'You know I had to! Where would Nathan and Charlie be now if I hadn't?' Daniel's eyes suddenly widened. 'Oh, shit! Connor!' He sprung to his feet, calling out even as the teacher stepped forward to interrupt. 'He's in hospital in Oxford! Charlie's the only one who's been to see him!' The boy's thoughts began to race ahead. 'What if _they_ know? What's going to happen to him? What, what…'

'Dan,' Greg pleaded, placing the palms of his hands on the boy's shoulders. 'I don't know,' he spoke softly, 'but I _do_ know that the best chance we've got of working it all out is if we all work together.'

'Are we going to get into trouble?' Louis' voice was quiet again, barely audible over the background hum of the busy hospital.

The teacher sighed. 'I don't know, mate,' his shoulders sunk, 'but if you do, then you can bet your last knut that I'll be in twice as much.'

Louis blinked. 'Why?'

' _In loco parentis_ ,' Greg answered, simply. 'If this had happened when you were at home, your Mum and Dad would have been responsible. At school… it's me.'

'That's stupid!' Albus stood up. 'It's not your fault what happened,' he insisted. 'You didn't even know about most of it!'

'That's the point,' Greg winced. 'I should have.'

'How? We never told _anyone_.'

The teacher shrugged. 'Someone found out, though, didn't they?' he observed. 'How else do you explain two kids ending up in hospital…?'

'Three,' Daniel corrected him.

Albus sunk back onto the cold plastic of his seat. 'Yeah,' he murmured, 'I guess…'

'What are we going to do about Connor?' Daniel quickly returned the conversation to the fate of his injured friend. 'We can't just leave him!'

Greg took another deep breath. 'But we can't do anything for him unless you guys start talking.' He forced a grim smile onto his lips. 'If you don't give the Aurors a good reason to help him out, they aren't going to do anything. It's like playing dominoes… you've got to knock the first one over before anything else happens.'

'Then let's knock one over!' Daniel's voice rose. 'If it was you in that bed, wouldn't you want us to help? Besides, if we don't do anything, then doesn't it look like it's just gonna be us next?'

'Yeah,' Albus grimaced. 'It's like we can't escape it.' He gritted his teeth. 'I'm in,' he announced, 'but I want to talk to my Dad first.' The eleven-year-old turned to face his cousin. 'Louis?'

The redhead nodded. 'Yeah,' he answered. 'Slytherins Stick Together, right?'

'Right,' Greg echoed. 'I'll go and talk to the Aurors first, and then we'll take it from there.'

'Someone should stay with Nathan,' Louis interrupted. 'Just in case he wakes up.'

'Good idea,' the teacher noted. 'Do you want to do that? Al's got to go and see his Dad, and I think Dan needs to come with us when we go to find Connor.'

'Yeah,' Louis answered quickly, 'I'll stay.' He pushed himself to his feet, reaching out a hand towards the cubicle door, before pausing as he grasped its handle. 'Good luck, guys.'

The redheaded boy's walking pace slowed to a hesitant stroll as he pushed open the double doors that led back to the Borthwick Ward. He edged between the two rows of beds, each one holding a motionless child, realising as he made his way along the room that he was holding his breath as he walked.

'Hi,' Louis managed, weakly, as he arrived beside the Healer stationed next to Nathan's bed.

'Hello, kid,' the man nodded a reply, extending a hand in greeting. 'Lucas Brand.'

'I'm Louis,' the eleven-year-old stuttered, 'Louis Weasley.' He took the man's offering as he brushed his fringe away from his eyes with his free hand.

'Slytherin?'

Louis jerked his hand away. 'So… so what if I am?' The boy glared at the Healer, who barely raised an eyebrow.

'Then it would make two of us,' he answered, coolly, watching the redhead blush furiously.

'I'm sorry,' Louis mumbled. 'I, I didn't…' he swallowed. 'How did you know?'

'Greg,' the Healer replied simply, before adding to his answer as the boy beside him kept his counsel. 'He's Professor Bennett to you, I suppose. We were at school together.'

'Oh,' Louis' sentences were still struggling to extend beyond a few syllables. 'Were you in the same year?'

'The same dorm,' Lucas smiled. 'For seven years. We knew each other pretty well by then.'

'Oh,' the boy echoed, still feeling the flush of embarrassment hot against his cheeks. 'Sorry,' he repeated. 'Do you think Nathan's going to be alright?'

The Healer took a deep breath. 'He ought to be,' Lucas answered. 'No reason why he shouldn't; it doesn't look like it's much more than exhaustion.'

Louis nodded, reaching out to take the motionless hand of his friend. 'It's cold,' he observed, numbly.

'Yes,' Lucas calmed him. 'We'd expect it to be. When the body is ill, it sends more blood to the essential organs – the heart, the brain, the lungs – because they can't survive without oxygen, but the skin can.'

'Right,' the eleven-year-old acknowledged, letting Nathan's hand drop limply back onto the mattress. 'When do you think he'll wake up?'

'I'm not sure,' the Healer had no choice but to shake his head, 'but I reckon you could do a lot worse than keeping hold of his hand… just let him know you're here.'

Louis managed a thin smile. 'Yeah,' he mumbled. 'Were you friends?' he asked bluntly, flicking the untidy fringe of his red hair away from his eyes.

Lucas smiled. 'Yes,' he reminisced. 'Greg was the first person who ever gave me a chance, who ever thought I wasn't just going to be like my brother Kevin.'

'Cool,' the boy acknowledged. 'I never really had any proper friends before I started at Hogwarts, either…' He took a deep breath. 'I'm part-Veela.'

The Healer turned, staring at the eleven-year-old. 'Veela?' he echoed. 'But…'

'I know,' Louis looked down, 'I'm a boy. I shouldn't exist.' He tried to force a smile.

'You do, though, don't you?' Lucas assured him, 'and I learned a long time ago that there's no point worrying about things that you can't do anything about.'

Louis nodded. 'I guess,' he mumbled. 'Still, I wish I knew why it had happened to me.'

'Is this the right place?' Greg turned to his student as the two Slytherins emerged into the cold of an Oxford morning, this time accompanied by a pair of Aurors in the dull pin-stripe grey of muggle business suits.

'Yeah,' Daniel, who hadn't uttered a word since he had left the waiting room beside the Borthwick Ward, broke his silence to confirm that the cold, angular buildings in front of him did indeed belong to the John Radcliffe Hospital.

The teacher nodded. 'Right,' he summarised. 'You lead the way; find out where he is now, and see if you can get visiting. We'll do the rest.'

The eleven-year-old took a deep breath, leading the three men across the drab network of side roads that surrounded the hospital and into the building's reception, leaving the chill of the December morning outside. 'Hi,' he mumbled, as he approached the reception desk. 'My friend's here,' he explained, 'and I'd like to visit him, please.'

The woman on the other side of the reception desk nodded. 'What's his name?'

'Connor Norris,' Daniel answered. 'He got hit by a car this week…'

'He's in Tom's Ward,' the receptionist answered, disinterested, before the boy had a chance to tell any more of his story. 'Up the stairs, on the first floor.'

'Okay,' Daniel swallowed, 'thank you.'

The receptionist shut her eyes for a moment, before shaking her head, stretching her eyelids and blinking again. 'Have a good day.'

'You too,' Daniel replied automatically, before turning his back and edging across the hallway to his teacher. 'Memory charm?' he whispered, and the man nodded.

'Can never be too careful, mate,' Greg replied. 'We're not taking any chances.' He forced a lighter tone into his voice. 'First floor, wasn't it?'

'Yeah,' Daniel confirmed, his voice stuttering.

'Come on, then,' Greg held an arm around the boy's shoulders. 'No time like the present.'

The two wizards took the short flight of stairs in silence, before pausing on the top step as Daniel grabbed a handful of the man's jacket. 'Sir,' he muttered. 'What's going to happen?'

Greg took a deep breath. 'It looks like he's conscious,' the teacher concluded, 'if he's been moved to this ward… which might make it a little more difficult to Apparate him out to St. Mungo's.'

Daniel blinked. 'You're going to Apparate him out?' He echoed.

'How else are we going to do it?'

The boy shivered. 'Well, I, I thought…' he shook his head. 'I thought you might be able to tell the hospital he had to be transferred somewhere else, and then take it from there…'

'That's not a bad idea actually, mate,' the man acknowledged, 'but I'm not sure I fancy being on the road with a target painted on the back of my car…' his expression turned solemn. 'How do we know who we can trust?' He asked, rhetorically. 'The fewer people that know about it, the better.'

Daniel nodded, slowly, his face pale.

'Come on, mate,' Greg shook the boy gently. 'Connor needs to see a friendly face.'

'Yeah,' the eleven-year-old agreed, a look of determination crossing his features. 'What should I say to him?'

'Keep it simple,' the man advised. 'Just tell him that you need him to trust me, and take my hand. They're expecting us in the Borthwick.'

Daniel hesitated. 'What about the Statute…?'

'Dan,' the teacher smiled. 'We're with _Aurors_ … I think that probably means we're alright. Besides, your friend's life's at threat. That would get us round the Statute, anyway.'

'Fine,' Daniel gritted his teeth. 'Here goes.' The boy pushed open the doors that led to the children's ward, explaining himself briefly to the nurses on duty and turning his back before he could see the effects of the tell-tale flashes of white light that he knew would quickly follow. Connor's bed was only a short distance into the ward, and the blond boy's neck was still supported by a sturdy brace, above a chest decorated by a patchwork of cuts and bruises.

'Dan!' The blond boy gave a shout of recognition that quickly merged into a gasp of pain.

'Connor…' Daniel ran to his friend's bedside, letting his weight fall against the steel rail at the edge of the mattress. 'Shit, mate…'

Connor snorted. 'Yeah,' he managed a wry smile. 'You could put it like that.'

The brown-haired boy shook his head. 'What happened…?'

'I got hit by a car,' Connor explained. 'I was crossing the road on the way to school, and it was like it came out of nowhere…'

'Did you see what sort of car it was?' Daniel tried to force a casual tone into his voice.

Connor shrugged. 'No, I don't remember,' he winced. 'Like I said, it was like it just came out of nowhere.'

 _Just Like Magic_ , right?' Daniel's voice turned cold, and his friend shivered as he heard the words.

'Yeah,' the blond boy murmured, his brain starting to make fresh connections. 'Shit,' he bit his bottom lip. 'You don't think that he… he was trying to… to…' Connor shut his eyes, unable to finish his sentence.

'It's too much to be a coincidence, isn't it?' Daniel observed, matter-of-factly, and his friend jerked a hand to cover his fast-reddening eyes. 'I'm sorry, mate…' Daniel tried to backtrack.

The other boy swallowed. 'It's fine, Dan,' he sniffed. 'It's not your fault… I, I… Why me?' Connor snapped, suddenly. 'What did I do?'

'I guess you kept your memory after the bombs in Oxford,' Daniel answered, bluntly. 'You know they were there.'

'What?' Connor paled. 'Dan, what are you on about? Are you trying to scare me?'

Daniel shook his head, sharply. 'No, I'm not, I swear it... I'm sorry,' he sighed, 'I'm crap at explaining things.' The eleven-year-old forced a false smile, before taking a deep, measured breath. 'Do you trust me, Connor?'

'What?'

'Do you trust me?'

Connor shivered, the deep bruise covering his left eye standing out all the more clearly against his ashen face, but the boy managed a stiff nod.

'I think you're still in danger here,' Daniel's voice dropped. 'You need to go somewhere safer.'

'Dan?' Connor whispered, his eyes watering. 'What's happening? What's going on?'

'I can't tell you now,' the brown-haired boy heard his own voice stutter, 'but I promise I will, as soon as I can,' he chose his words carefully. 'I need you to take Prof… Mr Bennett's hand.'

Connor's eyes grew wide. 'Dan…?' he echoed.

'Please.'

'Okay.' Connor managed, weakly, and his friend let out a loud sigh of relief. 'I'll do it.'

'Sir,' Daniel glanced back over his own shoulder, catching Greg's eye and beckoning the teacher towards him. 'Let's go.'

As Greg had promised, the Borthwick Ward was ready for their return. The room's far wall had stretched backwards five yards, allowing another bed to fill the newly-created space, and Lucas Brand's Muffliato spell hid the crack of the trio's arrival from the other patients. It was a spell that quickly proved its worth, as the three arrivals did not land smoothly.

The teacher's plan was to land Connor on top of the new bunk, but unfortunately for the blond-haired boy, the man's aim was slightly out. They Apparated a handful of feet to one side of the bed, causing the casts on the boy's legs to come crashing down onto the tiles of the hospital floor before Greg could halt his fall. The teacher's desperate attempt to help the muggle boy also left Daniel off-balance, and it was all that the other eleven-year-old could do to stumble sideways, over the top of a wooden stool and onto the cold ground.

Without another word, Greg lifted his wand and gently levitated Connor's stricken body into the vacant bed, ignoring the boy's alarmed eyes and frantic expression.

'Dan? Dan?' Connor yelled, grabbing for the thin white sheets. 'What's going on? What's happening? Dan?'

The brown-haired boy pushed himself to his feet with a grimace, shaking the wrist that had borne the brunt of his heavy landing. 'Sir…' he mumbled, 'how much can I tell him?'

The teacher glanced around. 'Well, I've just Apparated him into the middle of St. Mungo's, missed the bed I was aiming for and levitated him up into it instead,' he smiled, thinly. 'I was talking about dominos before we left… do you think there's left standing?' Greg turned, walking the short distance towards Lucas and Louis as they watched, stunned, from the side of Nathan's bed. 'Tell him everything, Dan,' the teacher decided. 'Muffliato will cover you.'

Daniel nodded. 'Thanks,' he murmured, picking up the wooden stool he had stumbled over and planting it firmly beside his friend's bed. 'Connor,' he began, looking the other boy in the eye. 'I swear that everything I'm about to tell you is true. I know some of it is just going to sound really fucked up, but I swear it's all true.'

The blond boy looked suspiciously back at his old friend. 'Everything?'

'Yes,' the other boy confirmed. 'Everything… and if there's anything you're not sure about, just stop me, ask me, I won't mind.' He glanced over his shoulder. 'They can't hear us, either,' he tried to reassure his friend. 'Everything we say is totally private.'

Connor blinked. 'Where am I?'

Daniel took a long breath. 'St. Mungo's Hospital, in London.'

'St. Mungo's?' Connor echoed.

'Yeah,' Daniel nodded, 'it's the only hospital in the country that treats magical injuries.'

Connor screwed up his eyes. ' _Magic_?' He spluttered. 'I got hit by a car! There's nothing magic about that!'

'I know you did,' Daniel cut off his friend's rant, 'but that's not what happened to Charlie,' he gestured to the bunk nearest Connor's. 'He got cursed.'

'Cursed?' The blond boy raised his voice. 'What the fuck do you mean, cursed?'

Daniel sighed, reaching for the pocket of his trousers. 'I guess we'd better start at the beginning,' he surmised. 'We're wizards. Me, Professor Bennett, everyone else here. This is my magic wand.'

Connor's mouth dropped open, but no sounds came out as his eyes fell, bemused, on the sight in front of him. 'For real…?' He managed, moments later, and Daniel nodded.

'Yeah,' he tried to smile. 'You know how I said I was going away to boarding school… well, it's not a normal boarding school. It teaches magic. That's how you got here… it's called Apparation. Professor Bennett's one of our teachers.'

Connor stared back at the boy he'd known since they had both been at infant school. ' _Just Like Magic_ , right?'

'Right.'

Connor shook his head, glumly. 'So… so…' he stuttered. 'Does that mean that… Charlie's friend…?'

'Yes,' Daniel's head dropped. 'Nathan's a wizard too. He's in the other bed. They both got attacked this morning…'

'Shit,' Connor swallowed, gingerly feeling the patchwork of bruising across his chest. 'Does Charlie know…?'

'I'm not sure,' Daniel shook his head. 'I don't know how much Nathan told him.'

'No,' Connor contradicted his friend. 'Does Charlie know what happened to me?'

Daniel shivered. 'Yes,' he whispered. 'He'd been to visit you twice, whilst you were unconscious. He came on Friday, the day you got hit, after someone tried to get him at his school…'

'Shit,' Connor swore again, brushing a lone tear away from his left eye, but only managing to provoke more as he aggravated the angry blue bruise around his eye socket. 'Sorry…'

'Forget it, Conn,' Daniel reached out to take his friend's hand, feeling the backs of his own eyes beginning to burn. 'It's okay, you're safe here, that's why we moved you. You'll get better.'

'I hope so,' he bit his bottom lip. 'Will _they_?' Connor nodded towards the other two bed-bound boys.

'They'd better,' Daniel insisted, 'or else the bastard who did it to them is really going to pay.'

The blond boy shuddered. 'Do you know who it was?'

'No,' Daniel had to shake his head, 'but Professor Bennett and his friend caught the man who attacked Nathan and Charlie this morning.'

'Your _teacher_ caught them?'

Daniel managed a thin smile. 'Yeah,' he glanced back over his shoulder towards the man. 'He's not like Miss Linnett was.'

'Cool…' Connor acknowledged, before his expression turned grim. 'The teachers at Gosford are even worse than her.'

'Really?' Daniel blinked.

'Yeah,' the boy sighed. 'None of them are bothered about you, none of them give you a chance if you don't get it straight away…' He swallowed. 'I hate it.' He sunk down onto the pillow, giving up his struggle against his tears.

'Bloody hell, Connor...' he shivered. 'I wish you could come to Hogwarts, too.'

Connor grunted. 'It's just for magical people, right? I'm about as magical as a bucket of horse shit.'

Daniel forced himself to suppress a grin. 'I don't know, mate,' he ventured. 'It's pretty good fertiliser, isn't it?'

'Bugger off, Dan,' the blond boy stuck his tongue out, but the tone of his voice didn't carry the same menace that his words implied.

'It doesn't matter,' Daniel reasoned. 'It's the holidays now, isn't it? I bet we can try and work something out before we have to go back.'

Daniel and Connor were not the only eleven-year-olds to be waiting nervously that London morning. Across the city, Albus Potter found himself in the same position, slumped on the deep black leather of a swivel chair in the centre of his father's office.

He had been there before, as a small child, spinning around merrily and admiring the pictures and certificates that covered the office walls. It was a memory that filtered back into his mind now, as his eyes fell onto the single photograph on the man's desk, a picture that showed the five members of the Potter family two summers before.

'Albus?' A door behind the desk creaked open slowly, letting a black-haired man step outwards and into the office.

'Dad?' Albus could feel his heart thudding against his ribcage as he spoke. 'I need to talk to you.'


	25. Ministry Protocol

Albus Potter felt as if he were six years old again, squirming on top of a chair that was several sizes too large, as his father towered above him.

'Dad…' the eleven-year-old stammered, as Harry squatted down beside the swivel chair.

'Al,' Harry reached out, taking hold of his son's hand. 'What is it, little man?'

Albus took a halting breath. 'Did you hear what happened to Nathan?' He looked, pleadingly, across to his father, only to quickly realise that the man was none the wiser. 'He got attacked,' his voice dropped, 'him and one of his old friends… it was someone with a mask…' Albus looked away, staring down at his feet as they hung in mid-air between the end of the chair and the ground below.

'You're sure…?' Harry checked.

'Yes!' Albus snapped back, instantly. 'Of course I'm sure! Professor Bennett saw it, and they're in St. Mungo's now! Why wouldn't I be sure?'

Harry swallowed. 'Sorry, Al,' he tightened his grip on his son's hand. 'I know what it feels like to see one of your friends lying in a hospital bed…' he sighed, 'but they're both alright, aren't they? And there are Aurors on the case, right? I'm sure they'll work out who's responsible.'

'They've got the person who did it,' Albus' voice had turned quiet again, 'but that's not it,' he swallowed, 'that's not the problem.' He felt his eyes beginning to burn. 'There's more,' he gulped for air. 'You know the Oxford bombings, and the attack at the Dorset Derby, they're connected to this too! It can't just be this one man who did it all…'

'Al,' Harry cautioned. 'I think you've been reading too much of the _Daily Prophet_ …'

'I HAVE NOT!' The eleven-year-old's composure shattered. 'The Prophet's full of lies, I know that! I know it's connected because Nathan's friend was there in Oxford, when the bombs went off, and he saw a van saying "Just Like Magic" on the side! Then he saw the same van again in Ascot, and he took a photo of it before the driver came back and Obliviated the other boy he was with… and _then_ we got a letter at Hogwarts telling us that they were going to get him next time, and it had "Just Like Magic" all on the back! I'm not making this up, Dad, I swear it!'

A serious expression crossed Harry's face, his eyes narrowing into sharp focus as he listened to his son's claims. 'How many people have you told about all this, Al?'

'No-one,' the boy's reply was choked. 'I think Professor Bennett knows some of it, cause Dan told him this morning before they went to Ascot and found Nathan and Charlie, but… but…' his sentence petered out as his eyes began to water.

'It's okay, Al,' Harry reassured his son. 'Thanks for telling me,' he managed a thin smile. 'Merlin knows, I wouldn't have when I was your age. Where are they all now?'

'St. Mungo's,' Albus sniffed. 'Borstal Ward or something…'

Harry snorted. 'I think you meant the _Borthwick_ Ward,' he surmised, ignoring Albus' disinterested shrug. 'Come on,' he beckoned the boy to his feet. 'We'd better get going.'

'You mean,' the boy coughed, 'we're not going to get into trouble?'

Harry grimaced. 'The most important thing right now is that no one else gets hurt.'

It took Harry less than half an hour to transform the private cubicle opposite the Borthwick Ward into a makeshift office, with two rows of basic chairs facing a narrow desk. It was into this room that the Head Auror called together the three conscious first-years, their teacher and three other Aurors – the two young men who had accompanied Daniel and Greg to Oxford earlier that day, and a single older man.

'Alright, then,' Harry brought the meeting to order, children and teacher on one side and Ministry staff on the other. 'It is Sunday, December 17, at 2:40pm. We are dealing with what is evidently a breach in the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy, potentially over an extended period of time and leading to life-threatening circumstances to both magical and non-magical individuals. The purpose of this meeting is to establish the known facts. Civilians present are Albus Severus Potter, 11, of Islington, Daniel Jackson Hamilton, 11, of Oxford, Louis Guillaume Weasley, 11, of Tinworth, and Gregory Joseph Bennett, 23, of Richmond.'

The man took a deep breath. 'As I understand it, you have been in communication with two muggle children, Charles Sebastian Laurence Riley and Connor William Norris, throughout the term. Is this true?'

'Yes,' Albus glanced left and right to his friends, before answering on their behalf. 'We wrote to them, and they wrote back.'

'What did you tell them?' the oldest of the three assigned Aurors, a man with a grizzled face and untidy grey stubble, narrowed his eyes, staring maliciously at the boy. 'How to get into the Leaky Cauldron, perhaps?'

'No!' Daniel retorted, 'we never told them anything about magic! They were – they are – our friends! We couldn't forget about them just because we'd become magic!'

The Auror glared back, but Harry interrupted before he could ask another question. 'So there was nothing in the content of these letters that could have placed the safety and security of anything, or anyone, into jeopardy?'

'No,' Daniel insisted.

'Well…' Albus contradicted his friend, 'we did send one of them by owl, by Kjeld, because we had to tell Charlie as soon as possible…'

'That's clear enough,' the old Auror stood up, 'an obvious breach of the Statute.'

'No,' Greg countered, 'it's not! Everyone in this room knows there is a clear allowance in the Statute for life-threatening circumstances. These boys believed their friend was in danger – and they were right! Look what happened this morning!' The teacher slammed his fist down on the table in front of him. 'Isn't that what we should be worrying about right now?'

'The assailant was detained at the site this morning,' the wizened man drawled. 'He was acting alone. No accomplices.'

'What if he was Imperiused?' Louis put in. 'What if there was memory charms? We got a letter threatening to get Charlie, and then he got attacked two days later!'

The man snorted. 'Are you an Auror? Don't you think we didn't check for that?' He rolled his eyes, theatrically, 'and besides, when did we start taking evidence from half-breeds?'

'Stirling…' Harry began to protest, only for his own son's shout to overwhelm his father's voice.

'Shut up!' Albus yelled. 'How dare you say that about my friend! I bet you don't bloody care about the boys that got attacked, because they're only muggles!' he stood up, abruptly. 'Well, I do, and I _know_ there's something going on. It's obvious, if you could only be bothered to look at what's in front of you, and stop pretending it's just a coincidence that Connor and Charlie kept seeing that van every time anything weird happened…' The eleven-year-old paused, taking a deep, rasping breath, before staring at his father. 'I'm not listening to this any more, Harry Potter. I'm going to go back to my friends, people who believe me!' He turned his back on his father without a second glance, and strode towards the doorway, his two housemates following in his wake.

Harry Potter swallowed. 'Meeting closed,' he announced, slowly getting to his feet. 'Stirling, Pendle, Killeen – dismissed. Nothing spoken of in this room is to be discussed with anybody else, whatsoever. Clause 33 applies.' The Head Auror watched his colleagues file out of the room, before collapsing back onto his own seat. 'Professor Bennett,' he offered, weakly.

'Yes, sir?' Greg stood up.

'Please call me Harry.'

'Harry.'

'The boys are right, aren't they?' The Auror reached for a glass of water. 'I've never seen Albus like that before, even when James was at his throat…' He downed the contents of the glass. 'I've looked through all the evidence, and everything they've said fits together.'

'They're telling the truth, Harry,' Greg backed his pupils. 'I know that's not worth much, coming from their Head of House, but I believe every word they've said. Three of their friends are in the Borthwick, for Merlin's sake… and they're petrified that it's going to be them next.'

Harry nodded. 'I know, Professor.'

'Call me Greg.'

The Auror smiled, thinly.

'Harry?' Greg continued. 'If you believe them, then why… why did you put them through all that?' The teacher shook his head.

Harry's smile faded. 'I had no choice,' he explained. 'Ministry protocol. The law is very clear about what must be done in the case of suspected breaches of the Statute of Secrecy.'

Greg shuddered. 'Well, then,' he asserted, 'as Charles Dickens would have it, the law is an ass.'

'I can't argue with that.' Harry muttered his agreement, before changing the subject. 'I never thought Albus had that in him, mind you,' he shook his head.

'Didn't you?' Greg managed an amused grin. 'I guess he didn't tell you about the double detention he got, standing up for Scorpius Malfoy.'

The glass that Harry was holding dropped to the tabletop with a shattering crash. 'M… Malfoy?'

'No?' Greg couldn't prevent himself from smirking. 'Some son you've raised there, Harry.'

The Auror cleared the smashed glass with a single wave of his wand. 'I'd never have imagined it,' he reflected. 'Not before he left for Hogwarts… I guess you've taught him well.'

'I wish I could take the credit,' Greg brushed off the praise. 'I can't pretend I've done anything more than nudge him in the right direction once or twice.'

Harry smiled, wryly. 'You're too modest, Greg. He's done more growing-up in four months than the last eleven years put together. Now,' the Auror sighed, 'how long do you think it will be until he trusts me again?'

Albus was still in a furious, but now silent, rage as he threw himself onto the stool between Connor and Charlie's beds at the end of the Borthwick Ward.

'Bad meeting?' Lucas Brand, the Healer, ventured as Louis slipped onto the vacant seat next to Nathan's still-motionless body.

'You could say that,' Daniel answered for his friend. 'One of the Aurors called Louis a half-breed.'

Lucas shuddered. 'What?' he asked, appalled. 'That's a disgrace!'

'Tell me about it,' the muggle-born boy agreed, turning away to sit beside Connor's bed.

'Don't you go paying any attention to that, kid,' Lucas reached an arm around the eleven-year-old's shoulders. 'Don't you listen to that prejudice for a second.'

'It's right, though…' Louis coughed, trying and failing to hold back a stream of tears that ran down his face and splashed onto Nathan's cold hands. 'Look at me, I'm a fu... I'm a freak! Nobody else has ever been like this before, and nobody knows why I'm like it now…' He buried his head in his hands, slumping against Nathan's blankets and ignoring Lucas' efforts to raise his spirits.

'Louis…' the Healer protested, helplessly, but the redhead ignored him, his head sinking deeper into the bed in front of him, only for a sudden movement beneath the duvet to stir the eleven-year-old.

'Nathan?' Louis lifted his head warily.

The blond-haired boy grunted, slowly forcing his eyes open. 'Lou,' he noticed his friend's tear-streaked face. 'What did I tell you about saying that crap about yourself?' Nathan pushed himself upwards against the bed's wooden headboard, before feeling his right arm give way underneath him. 'Ouch!' he exclaimed, as Lucas reached forward to support the boy.

'Take it easy, now,' the Healer reasoned.

Nathan shut his eyes again, bracing himself before blinking them back open. 'Where am I…?'

Louis rubbed his eyes. 'St. Mungo's Hospital,' he answered, quietly. 'You… How much do you remember?'

Nathan grimaced. 'Not as much as I should do, I bet.' He shook his head, wincing again and holding a palm to his forehead as he did so. 'What happened?'

'You got attacked,' the redhead shivered. 'You and Charlie. I don't really know much more, it was Dan that found you…'

'It was Professor Bennett,' Daniel corrected his friend. 'You and Charlie were in a park in Ascot, and someone wearing a mask was trying to curse and hex you, but you cast a shield charm and it nearly held him off,' the eleven-year-old paused, his voice growing quieter. 'It wasn't enough, though, you passed out just as Professor Bennett and his friend got there, and the man managed to hit Charlie before they could stop him…'

'What happened to Charlie?'

'He's over there,' Daniel pointed across the ward. 'In that bed, unconscious.'

Nathan collapsed back down onto his mattress. 'It's my fault,' he murmured, feeling his eyes starting to water, and his breathing grow shallow. 'If only I could have held my stupid shield for ten more seconds…'

'No, it's not!' Louis disagreed, vehemently. 'How many first-years do you think could hold a shield charm against an adult, even for ten seconds? You saved his life!'

Nathan fell silent, but for the rasp of his hurried breathing.

'It's true, Nath,' the redhead insisted.

'Thanks, Louis,' Nathan forced the outline of a smile onto his tired face. 'Now, what are we going to do about it?'

Lucas smiled, kindly. 'The first thing you're going to do about anything is _rest_ , young man.' He adjusted the blankets on the boy's bed. 'You can do your plotting tomorrow.'

'Fine,' Nathan admitted defeat, before turning to face his schoolfriends. 'See you tomorrow.'

'Supper's in the oven, mate,' Theo didn't look up as he heard the unmistakeable crackling of his fireplace, several hours later.

'Cheers,' Greg replied, simply. 'Have you done some for Dan, as well?'

Theo shut his eyes. 'Oh, shit…'

'Doesn't matter,' the eleven-year-old mumbled. 'I'm not hungry.'

'Don't be ridiculous, Daniel,' the teacher chastised him, 'after the day you've had…' He shook his head, opening the oven door and – with the help of an oven glove – carrying the still-warm plate to the kitchen table. 'Eat,' Greg instructed. 'I'll put some something in the microwave...'

'I'm sorry, mate,' Theo offered. 'I didn't think Dan would be with you.'

Greg swung himself over the back of a black leather sofa, planting himself beside his friend as the microwave whirred into life. 'It's fine,' he insisted.

Theo shifted in his seat. 'Anything happen worth knowing about?'

'Nathan's awake,' the teacher answered, 'the boy who cast the shield charm… but Charlie's still out. It feels like we spent the whole day being interrogated…'

'The boys as well?' Theo blinked, glancing towards Daniel as the eleven-year-old devoured his meal.

Daniel grunted his agreement through a mouthful of pasta.

Greg snorted. 'Thought you weren't hungry?' he laughed. 'Yeah, the boys have had it too, non-stop… but no sign of any idea what they're going to do about it, though.'

'What about the guy we caught in the park this morning?' Theo countered.

' _Acting alone_ ,' sarcasm drenched his voice, 'if you buy his testimony, and you don't think that someone trying to kill innocent children is above an Imperius or two.'

Theo nodded, slowly. 'Take it they're not filling you with confidence, then?'

'You could say that,' Greg shook his head. 'You should see the amount of paperwork, the amount of forms that they need to fill in for every single interview, every single bit of evidence! _Ministry protocol_ ,' he sneered. 'There's no bloody wonder they haven't worked anything out; they haven't had a chance…'

Theo waited, making sure his housemate's complaints had run their course, before asking his next question. 'Any plans for tomorrow?'

Greg winced. 'Back to St. Mungo's,' he answered, simply. 'There's two muggle boys in there… guess who gets to do the explaining to their parents.'

'Ouch.'

'That's before we start to wonder why on earth Charlie Riley's got a magical signature all of a sudden,' the teacher groaned. 'Can't remember the last time I was looking forward to going to bed.'

Theo paused, thoughtfully. 'What about when you met that girl in Croatia last summer…?'

'Hey!' Greg picked up a cushion, hitting his flatmate on the forearm. 'Children present!' He glanced to his left, watching Daniel trying – and failing – to control a burst of laughter. The teacher rolled his eyes. 'It's your bedtime, too!'

 ** _EXCLUSIVE: MINISTRY COVER-UP EXPOSED_**

 _With confidence in the Ministry of Magic's handling of recent terrorist attacks already at an alarmingly low level, the_ Daily Prophet _has learned of further mishandling of the ongoing affair, following an incident in the muggle town of Ascot, Berkshire, that left the Statue of Secrecy in tatters._

 _The_ Prophet _understands that two eleven-year-old boys, one a muggle-born wizard and the other a muggle, were attacked by an unidentified individual. Whilst the assailant has since been apprehended by Aurors, it appears that standard protocol for muggle exposure to magic has not been followed, and reports suggest that the muggle boy is currently being treated at St. Mungo's Hospital._

 _Of course, the Ministry is no stranger to playing fast and loose with the truth, but when the security of the nation – and the Statute itself – is under threat, what gives the government the right to be a law unto itself? How has a first-year boy been allowed to breach wizarding law so blatantly?_

 _No Ministry officials have been prepared to make a public statement on the events so far, but_ Prophet _sources believe that the muggle-born boy involved is Nathan Llewellyn, a Slytherin…_

Daniel held up an already-creased copy of the morning newspaper as Louis and Albus reached the top of the fourth-floor staircase outside the Borthwick Ward the following day. 'The adults are in there,' he nodded towards a closed door. 'Guess what they're talking about?'

'I wonder,' Albus sighed, 'but who could it have been? Nobody else knew apart from us, and the Aurors… it couldn't have been them…'

'What about Rose?' Louis interrupted his cousin. 'What if she heard you telling me about Nathan when we were at the Burrow, and told Miranda?'

'Shit,' Albus exhaled. 'I bet you're right. Stupid bitch!' he exclaimed. 'I bet she still thinks she's right about everything, you know how stubborn she is…'

Louis shook his head. 'I guess we'd better make sure we never say anything else where there's any chance she can hear us,' he observed.

'Yeah,' Daniel agreed, 'but never mind that… should we tell the others?'

'We've got to, haven't we?' Albus asked, rhetorically. 'I mean, it's not good, is it, but what if they find out off someone else?'

Daniel nodded. 'Yeah, I guess,' he conceded.

'Come on, then,' Louis motioned towards the ward doors. 'You know what these meetings are like, they go on forever!'

Lucas Brand greeted the three eleven-year-olds as they made their way to the end of the Borthwick Ward, before gently rousing the blond boy in the bed next to him. 'Nathan,' he whispered, 'your friends are here.'

The blond boy stirred, slowly. 'Hi, guys…' he yawned, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. 'Alright?'

Louis glanced nervously behind him. 'Not really,' he answered, holding out an arm to take the morning's newspaper from Daniel. 'Somehow the Prophet found out.' He held the front page in front of his friend, whose eyes glazed over as he scanned the story, finding his own name within the print.

'Shit,' Nathan let his hands drop, before flinging the newspaper to his side and off the bed, 'but who cares what they write? We know it's all lies!' he snarled. 'I'm just surprised they didn't talk about you being a Veela again!'

'They did,' Daniel interrupted, his voice quiet. 'On the next page.'

Nathan rolled his eyes. 'How predictable do they want to get?'

'Aren't you mad?' Albus raised his voice.

The blond boy shrugged. 'Not really,' he answered. 'I mean, it's not that much of a surprise, is it… and what difference does it make, anyway, if it's me they're having a go at and not just Louis? It's not like we're going to pay any attention. I can't wait to see what they print when it turns out we're right!'

Lucas let out a long breath. 'I take it Slytherins still Stick Together, then?'

Nathan nodded, firmly. 'Always.'


	26. Muggle Studies

Alexander Corner read slowly through the front page of the Daily Prophet at the breakfast table of his family's semi-detached house, before letting the newspaper fall as he stared out through the kitchen window and into the quiet village street beyond. He sighed, his eyes flickering back to the paper again, in particular the paragraph where one of his closest friends had been accused.

'He didn't break the law,' the Ravenclaw insisted, aloud, but privately another voice challenged his public confidence. 'If he's guilty, then so are you!'

'Who didn't, Alex?' A man asked, his voice close enough to the twelve-year-old to startle the boy as he spoke.

'D…Dad?' Alexander stammered. 'I didn't see you there.'

Michael Corner smiled. Like his son, his dark hair extended back beyond his earlobes, but unlike the boy, it was combed neatly into place, betraying a receding hairline that didn't bother the scientist in the least. 'Course you didn't, son,' he teased. 'You haven't looked at anything but that newspaper for the last five minutes. So…' he drew out his words, 'who didn't break the law?'

Alexander sighed. 'Nathan,' he tossed his copy of the _Prophet_ carelessly towards his father. 'Nathan Llewellyn, one of my best friends at school.'

Michael caught the newspaper, casually skimming the lead story before dropping it onto a pile of leaflets on the kitchen worktop. 'Funny, that,' he remarked, dispassionately, 'as I've just had a call from St. Mungo's, asking me if I wouldn't mind having a look at a boy around your age. Do you fancy coming along? I reckon Nathan could use a bit of moral support.'

Alexander sprung to his feet. 'Yes!' he announced. 'Absolutely, definitely, yes!'

'Well, if you're sure…?' The scientist allowed himself a small smile. 'You've got five minutes to get rid of those pyjamas and put something decent on, and we'll get going.'

The twelve-year-old needed less than two of his five permitted minutes to scramble upstairs, change into a collared shirt and pair of corduroy trousers, and meet his father beside the fireplace, and before the five minutes were up, the two wizards had arrived at the ground-floor lobby of St. Mungo's Hospital.

'Fourth floor,' Michael told his son, leading the boy across the reception wing and towards the nearest staircase. 'I think some other boys in your year are going to be there,' the man narrated, and his suggestion was confirmed as he knocked on the door of the makeshift Auror office outside the Borthwick Ward.

'Michael,' Harry Potter greeted him. 'Glad you could join us.'

'Morning, Harry,' the scientist replied.

'Hi, Xan,' Greg waved to the first-year boy, noticing the twelve-year-old even as he shied away behind his father. 'The other boys are down at the end of the ward, if you want to go and see them.'

A smile edged across Alexander's face. 'Thanks, sir,' he replied. 'I'll do that.'

Nathan was the first to notice the new arrival. 'Xan,' he hailed his friend from his hospital bed.

'Nathan,' the Ravenclaw replied, hurrying to see his friend. 'What happened…?'

The blond boy shrugged. 'I can't remember,' he admitted, 'but I was in the park in Ascot, with Charlie, and someone attacked us. Dan says that I was trying to hold him off with a shield charm, but I wore myself out…'

Alexander nodded. 'Are you alright now?'

'Yeah,' Nathan smiled, weakly. 'I think so. Not sure about Charlie though, he's still unconscious.'

'Oh,' Alexander grimaced. 'Have… have you seen the _Prophet_ today?'

Albus snorted. 'Yes,' he rolled his eyes. 'What a load of shit, hey?'

'Yeah,' the Ravenclaw echoed, uneasily, trying to mirror his friend's dismissive body language. 'Aren't you worried about it, at all?'

'No,' Nathan answered on behalf of the four Slytherins. 'We know it's all lies, anyway. They'll stop when they find out who's responsible, and find out it's nothing to do with us.'

'Or Veelas,' Louis put in. 'Did you notice they had another go at me on the next page?'

Alexander shook his head. 'Sorry,' he muttered.

'Forget it, Xan,' Louis insisted. 'Like Nath said, it's all lies.' He took a breath, changing the subject. 'How come you've come to see us?'

'My Dad,' Alexander answered, simply. 'Harry Potter… I mean, your Dad… he asked him to come and look at somebody "about my age". I guessed that must have been Nathan, but it looks like you're fine…'

'Your Dad's a scientist, right?' Nathan checked.

Alexander nodded. 'He's trying to find out what causes muggle-borns and squibs to happen.'

'Why would that have anything to do with me?' the blond boy queried. 'I know I'm a muggle-born, but why would that make a difference to my magic now? I'm just the same as any other wizard, aren't I?'

'Maybe he's not meant to come and see you?' Daniel challenged his friend. 'Last night, after we got back to his flat, Professor Bennett was saying something about magical signatures… that Charlie has got one now?'

'Charlie?' Nathan echoed, peering across the hospital to ward to see where his old friend still lay, motionless, in his bed. 'Charlie Riley?'

Daniel nodded.

'Lucas,' Nathan turned to the Healer. 'What's a magical signature?'

The man raised his eyebrows. 'Now, that's a question,' he remarked.

Nathan swallowed. 'That's why I asked it.'

'How long have you got for an answer?'

'Well,' Daniel resolved to call the Healer's bluff. 'I don't think Connor's going anywhere soon, is he? How long do you need?'

Lucas smiled. 'Have it your way, boys,' he concluded, 'but seeing as nobody has ever really managed to a decent job of figuring them out, I don't know how I'm going to try and explain it...' He shook his head. 'What do you know about them?'

The first-years glanced at one another.

'I've heard a little bit, I think,' Alexander ventured. 'Everything magical has its own signature, doesn't it, different to anything else? Like a fingerprint?'

'That's a good start,' the man acknowledged. 'As far as we know, all wizards and witches have their own signature, or imprint, which is entirely unique to them. It affects a great deal of things, from your affinity with the four base elements of Old Magic, right through to your wand choices. We have all kinds of ways of detecting them, but not the first idea where they come from.'

Lucas took a breath. 'I remember exactly where I was when I first felt a magical signature. It was Wistman's Wood, in Devon. I was staying at Greg… Professor Bennett's house for Christmas, and we were trying to research the Wild Hunt. Have you heard about that yet?'

'A little,' Louis answered, keen to avoid distracting the teacher from his story.

'Well,' Lucas continued, 'the Hunt is supposed to have been based in Wistman's Wood, on Dartmoor, and we went to try and see if we could find it. We couldn't, of course, because it was trapped in a glass case in Professor Tregeagle's classroom, but we could tell the place had seen powerful magic: even Greg's Dad, a muggle, could feel it. These imprints linger for a certain period of time after particularly strong magic has been cast – for instance, you can tell when you go into a classroom that's just had a seventh-year NEWT class in it.'

Alexander's eyes slipped out of focus as his brain processed everything the Healer had told him. 'So, if you go to Stonehenge,' he suggested, 'that's what you feel?'

'Maybe once you would have done,' Lucas dismissed the boy's suggestion, 'but not now, not now you can't move for muggle tourists and souvenir shops.' His voice softened as he watched Alexander's face fall. 'There are plenty of places in England where you can feel it, though, like the Avebury circle near Stonehenge, or up on White Horse Hill on the Ridgeway…' He smiled. 'I'm going off topic, aren't I?'

'A bit,' Nathan nodded, dropping back onto his pillow. 'None of that explains why Charlie's got a signature now though,' he thought aloud. 'It _is_ his, right? Not just a left-over, like in that wood?'

Lucas shook his head. 'That's the first thing we checked when we found out he was supposed to be a muggle, and it's his alright.'

'What about Connor?' Daniel interrupted.

'Nothing,' the Healer answered. 'One hundred percent muggle.'

'This is weird,' Albus summarised, bluntly. 'I guess that's why they called your Dad in, Xan.'

'Yeah,' the Ravenclaw agreed, 'but if nobody else can work out what's happening, I don't think he he will.'

Albus tried, and failed, to suppress a snort of laughter. 'Why not?' he asked, playfully. 'It doesn't usually stop you!'

Across the fourth floor, an extraordinary meeting was drawing to a close, and Greg Bennett felt like he deserved a medal. For almost an hour, he'd sat in between Philip Llewellyn and Laurence Riley, fathers of Nathan and Charlie respectively, and explained what seemed like every other word that had been uttered. A challenge at the best of times, the teacher thought, but even more onerous when both men had learned their sons had been hospitalised by forces unknown.

'Then it's decided,' Harry Potter concluded. 'Philip and Michael will lead a full medical investigation into the changes in Charlie Riley's genetics – is that the word?'

Philip Llewellyn nodded his confirmation.

'I imagine you would want to be using your own laboratories…?'

'I'll work wherever,' Michael Corner offered. 'Muggle technology is years ahead of our own when it comes to science.'

Philip managed a tentative smile, which immediately reminded Greg of the man's own son. 'Well, I would prefer to work at the Science Park in Oxford.'

'That's fine,' Harry agreed, 'as for security, you will have an Auror guard at all times.'

'Harry?' Greg spoke up directly. 'The Aurors…' he hesitated, searching for the right words. 'After yesterday's meeting, I'm not sure…'

The Head Auror grinned. 'I thought you might say that, Greg,' he conceded. 'I am, however, quite sure you will be satisfied with the two men I have identified for this task. They will be here shortly. Will you need the boys?'

Philip shrugged, and Michael stepped in, answering on behalf of the two men. 'We can study their genetics without their presence,' he replied, 'all that we would need would be DNA samples, which are simple to collect. That might not be enough, though,' he cautioned. 'We might need to monitor them whilst they're casting spells, or reacting to them… in that case, we would obviously need them.'

'So you'll start without them?' Harry checked his understanding.

'Yes,' Michael confirmed. 'We'll start with the DNA samples, and take it from there.'

'Excellent,' the Head Auror replied. 'Now,' he turned to Laurence Riley, a tall, balding man who bore all the hallmarks of having been an outstanding athlete in his youth. 'Laurence, your son remains in a stable condition, and he has, at his bedside, the best treatment available in the magical world. You are of course at liberty to discharge him from St. Mungo's to the care of any non-magical institution, but in this situation I would strongly recommend against it.'

Laurence turned, warily, to face Greg.

'Don't move him,' the teacher summarised, wondering when exactly his role had shifted from liaison to legal counsel. 'Even if he was conscious, I'd keep him here. It's the safest place he could be.'

'Fine,' the man acknowledged, 'but I want to know straight away if anything, anything at all, happens to him…'

'We'll let you know, sir,' Harry assured him, before moving on. 'For reference, the parents of Connor Norris have been told that their son has been moved to a specialist unit to continue his recuperation from his injuries.' He took a deep breath. 'Meeting closed.'

'I take it you want to see Nathan and Charlie before you go?' Greg asked the two muggle men as the gathering broke up. 'They're the other side of the corridor.' The teacher led the way through to the Borthwick Ward, before leaving the two parents to approach their sons.

Once again, Nathan was the first to recognise the arrivals. 'Dad!' he called out, and his father hurried to his bedside.

'Nathan…' He rushed towards his son, pulling the boy into a hug.

'I'm alright, Dad!' the eleven-year-old protested loudly, blushing furiously. 'I'm fine!'

The man released his embrace. 'You're sure?'

Nathan nodded. 'Sure,' he insisted.

'What about Charlie?' Philip turned his attention to the other Ascot boy, still motionless in the opposite bed.

'He'll be alright,' Nathan's voice dropped. 'I know he will. He has to be.'

Philip ruffled his son's blond hair. 'This needs cutting,' he noted, but the boy didn't rise to the gentle bait. 'Listen, Nathan,' his expression turned serious. 'Mr Corner and I have been asked to do some genetics work with Charlie, to try to work out what's happened to him,' he revealed, 'but to tell you the truth I really don't know what I'm looking for; I don't know what I'm comparing him against.'

Nathan blinked. 'You could compare him with me?' he suggested. 'Or the others, I'm sure they wouldn't mind, if it helped Charlie. It might even help us work out why Louis is… um…' The eleven-year-old stopped himself mid-sentence, suddenly feeling his friend's eyes turn towards him.

'Work out what, Nathan?' Philip pressed.

His son swallowed. 'I… I'm not sure I should tell you,' he looked up towards Louis.

'Tell him what, Nath?' Louis had overhead.

'You know what.' Nathan looked away. 'Dad was just saying he was going to try and work out what's happened to Charlie, but that he didn't have anything to compare him with. I said he could probably try comparing him with us, but then I realised…' he tailed off again.

'I'm not human,' Louis answered Philip's unspoken question. 'My great-grandma was a Veela.'

The hospital ward had fallen quiet, and Greg clarified the boy's assertion for the muggles' benefit. 'They're an Eastern European race of nymphs, near-humans. They have been inter-breeding with wizards for many years, but the offspring have always, and I mean always, been female… until Louis,' he paused, 'which, as you can imagine, hasn't been the easiest thing for him to handle. Fortunately, he's now got some incredibly loyal friends, who couldn't care less about his genetics… but not everyone has been quite as tolerant.'

Louis reddened, managing a thin smile as Albus reached a reassuring arm around his cousin's shoulders. 'You can do any test you want to,' the redhead announced, 'if you think it could help work things out.'

'Thank you, Louis,' Philip answered into the silence that followed, before the other first-years echoed their classmate's pledge. 'All we will need to begin with is a DNA swab from the inside of your mouths. I will need to fetch the equipment from the lab in Oxford, first.'

'Well, no time like the present, then?' Harry Potter approached the group, with two other purple-robed men following closely behind him. 'I'd like to introduce your security. Joshua Tregeagle and Teddy Lupin.'

Greg's eyes widened like a first-year who had just caught sight of the giant squid for the first time. 'Josh…?'

'Hi, Greg,' the Auror acknowledged his old schoolfriend. 'Haven't seen you in ages.'

'I shall take it you are satisfied as to his trustworthiness?' Harry continued. 'I can personally vouch for Mr Lupin,' he nodded towards the shorter of the two men, whose hair was busy fading from bright pink to a mousy brown that matched Joshua's. Harry rolled his eyes. 'Once his mind is on the job, that is.'

'Good luck, Dad,' Nathan offered as his father stood up.

'Yeah,' Daniel echoed, glancing back over his shoulder towards Connor, as his friend still slept. 'Good luck.' He watched the scientists and their guards head for the ward's exit. 'Now, I guess we wait.'

Greg nodded. 'Yes,' he confirmed. 'Unless you wanted to make a start on your homework…?'

The teacher's suggestion had only been in jest, but by the afternoon, the first-years' confinement had driven them to tackle their Transfiguration essays – or, in Daniel's case – his Muggle Studies work.

'You actually have to do this?' Connor looked through his friend's writing. 'Just write about different sports?'

Daniel smiled. 'Yeah,' he nodded. 'It's my best subject; I know almost everything before we even do it.'

'What are your other subjects like?' Connor asked. 'What's your favourite?'

'Flying,' Daniel answered quickly, enjoying the look of shock on the other boy's face, 'on broomsticks.'

Connor shook his head. 'For real?' he asked.

'Yeah,' Daniel confirmed. 'Louis is brilliant,' he indicated the red-headed boy. 'He even made the House team,' he recalled, opting not to tell the story of his sending-off.

'Cool,' the blond boy remarked, slumping back against his headboard. 'Our school football team sucks,' he complained, 'and we hardly even play any games, anyway.' Connor sighed, before changing the subject abruptly. 'What's going to happen to me, Dan?'

'I don't know, mate,' Daniel answered, honestly. 'I guess it depends on what Nathan and Xan's dads find out.'

'Is it true that wizards can erase people's memories?' Connor persisted.

Daniel nodded, slowly.

'Is that going to happen to me?'

'I told you, I don't know!'

Connor shut his eyes, sinking down beneath his blankets. 'How shit is my life?' he asked aloud.

'Conn…' Daniel's voice softened. 'Even if it does, and you forget everything that happened here, I'm never going to forget that you're my friend.'

Connor grunted, rolling over and turning his back to the young wizard. 'I need to go to sleep,' he declared. 'Go and finish your homework.'

'Alright,' Daniel didn't argue. 'See you tomorrow, Connor.' He stood up, carrying his scroll of parchment across the ward to Nathan's bunk and setting himself down to finish his essay.

'How's Connor?' Louis enquired.

Daniel sighed. 'Down,' he admitted, frankly. 'He's afraid he's going to get Obliviated.'

'Professor Bennett wouldn't let that happen!' Louis responded. 'Would he?'

'It's not his choice,' Albus answered without looking up from his own essay. 'It's Dad's,' he paused, 'and he doesn't believe what we've said about Connor and Charlie, not at all.'

'Don't say that, Al,' Louis cautioned.

This time Albus looked up. 'He didn't even stop that guy from calling you a half-breed, Lou!'

Louis' head dropped. 'I guess…'

'We'll prove it's true,' Nathan interrupted, 'and he'll have to see it then, he'll have to…'

'Maybe,' Daniel reasoned, 'but even then, what would he do? He couldn't come to Hogwarts, could he? He wouldn't even be able to see it…'

'Why not?' Alexander interrupted. 'If squibs can see it, muggles must be able to, if someone tells him where it is.'

'He still couldn't go,' Albus dismissed the idea. 'So what if squibs can see it, they're still not allowed to go there,' he spoke with enough finality to end the conversation, and the boys settled back to their homework.

Daniel was still in a pensive mood later that evening, as he and Greg took the short Floo ride back to Flint Avenue.

'My turn to cook tonight,' the teacher noted, striding into the kitchen and opening the fridge door. 'Stir-fry suit you, Dan?'

'Yeah,' the eleven-year-old mumbled, slumping horizontally onto the black sofa that ran across the living room. 'Fine.'

Greg picked out a shrink-wrapped pack of chicken breast from the fridge, placing it onto the black marble-effect worktop and turning back to the boy. 'You're quiet tonight, mate.'

Daniel muttered something that the teacher couldn't make out.

'What's up?' Greg abandoned his planned cooking, and sat down in the arm chair beside the eleven-year-old. 'Dan?'

'It's Connor,' he sighed, shuffling on the sofa to face the man. 'What's going to happen to him?'

Greg swallowed. 'I don't know,' he fudged his answer.

An ironic smile spread across Daniel's face. 'That's just what I said to him, when he asked me.'

'Oh,' Greg mirrored the boy's expression.

'Could he come to Hogwarts?' Daniel returned to the line of questioning that Albus had dismissed earlier that day. 'I mean, I don't want him to get Obliviated, cause that's what's meant to happen, isn't it?' he began to think out loud. 'It's just he doesn't have any friends at Gosford High. I know he wouldn't be able to do any of the spells or anything but he knows about the magical world already, and if it wasn't for him we wouldn't know about the van and everything…' Daniel tailed off, feeling his eyes beginning to water. 'Sorry,' he mumbled.

'It's okay, Dan,' Greg reassured him, 'I know you two were best friends,' he leaned forward on his seat. 'You know it's not going to be down to me, don't you?'

Daniel nodded.

'Well, I'll see what I can do.'

The boy sat bolt upright, sharply. 'Really?'

'Really,' Greg smiled. 'On one condition.'

'What's that?'

'You come and help me cut some vegetables.'


	27. VYY

'Louis!' Teddy Lupin appeared in the kitchen at Shell Cottage just after eight o'clock the next morning, with the sharp crack of Apparation echoing behind him as a heavy plant pot crashed down from the stone mantelpiece above the open fireplace.

'Good morning, Teddy,' Bill Weasley looked up from the kitchen table, laconically repairing the young Auror's damage. 'I see you take after your mother when it comes to making an entrance.'

Teddy's hair turned pink. 'Ha ha, very funny, Bill,' the nineteen-year-old remarked, sarcastically. 'We need Louis to come to the lab in Oxford, now,' the Auror breathed. 'We think we've found something out.'

Bill raised his eyebrows. 'Really?'

'Yeah,' Teddy confirmed, 'but they need to do some more tests, and that's why they need him now,' he took a breath. 'Is he up yet?'

'I doubt it,' Bill smiled. 'We tend not to see much movement round here before ten o'clock.'

'I'll go and get him, then!'

'Be my guest,' Bill nodded. 'You know which one his room is,' he watched his distant cousin charge headlong down the hallway. 'Mind the…'

'Umbrellas?' Teddy called back, seconds later, after a second loud crash had filled the house. 'Too late.'

Bill rolled his eyes. 'I suppose you might wake Louis up with all that racket, at least…'

Louis' father was right, and as Teddy pushed the boy's bedroom door open, the redhead was slowly stirring. 'Teddy…?' he blinked, rubbing his eyes.

'Yep,' the teenager answered. 'Come on, get up, they need you at the lab.'

The eleven-year-old shot upright. 'Is something wrong?' he fretted. 'What was that crash?'

Teddy's hair turned pink again. 'That was me,' he admitted. 'Umbrellas. Now come on, they need you! See you in the kitchen in two minutes!' The Auror closed the door again, leaving the boy with enough privacy to get dressed and follow the instructions he'd given.

'Ready,' Louis announced, moments later, arriving downstairs having picked out the first set of clothes he could find, which happened to be the same jeans and creased shirt he had worn the previous day.

'Good job your mother hasn't seen you, looking like that,' Bill remarked, with a wry grin. 'Good luck, Lou,' he stood up, drawing his son into a warm embrace. 'Hope you have a good day's work.'

Louis smiled, flicking his fringe away from his eyes as he did so. 'Thanks, Dad,' he replied, turning to take Teddy's hand before vanishing into the morning air, leaving his father to face his wife only moments later.

'Good job your mother hasn't seen _what_?' Fleur challenged him. Bill picked up his morning copy of the Daily Prophet.

'Hi, Louis,' Alexander Corner greeted his friend moments later, as he and Teddy Apparated into the corridor outside Philip Llewellyn's laboratory.

'Hi, Xan,' the redhead echoed, reaching out to brace himself against the corridor wall. 'Good job I didn't have any breakfast,' he winced. 'I hate Apparating.'

Alexander smiled. 'It's okay, you're here now,' he noted, turning to knock on the laboratory door. 'Dad! Philip!' he called out. 'Louis is here!'

Almost immediately, Philip Llewellyn had pushed the door open, slipping outside to talk to the boys. 'Good morning, Louis,' he began. 'We have some… well, interesting news. Is there somewhere you can sit down?'

'There is now,' Teddy flourished his wand, conjuring a simple stool against one of the corridor walls. Slowly, Louis settled down on top.

'What do you know about chromosomes, Louis?' the scientist asked.

The eleven-year-old winced. 'A bit,' he offered. 'Xan tried to explain something to me, but I don't really remember.'

Philip nodded. 'Well,' he began, 'for humans, sex chromosomes are straightforward. Everybody has two: women are "XX", and men are "XY". Wizarding genetics is a very new science, but Michael has told me enough to establish that Veela, genetically, are "VV", or – in the case of the part-Veela in your family – "VX". That would mean you would expect human male/Veela offspring to be "VY".'

'They don't exist, though, do they?' Louis prompted the man. 'I remember Xan telling me that was impossible…'

'Correct,' Philip confirmed. 'Which means you're not "VY". You're "VYY".'

Louis blinked. 'I thought you said everybody only had two?'

'I did, didn't I?' the scientist asked, rhetorically. 'Well, I suppose that's not strictly true. Sometimes, very very rarely, something doesn't go as normal when cells are reproducing, and you get what we call a mutation. In this case, it means the embryo – the unborn baby – ends up with a different number of chromosomes... sometimes more, sometimes less. The human equivalent of this, called XYY, happens to maybe 1 in 1,000 boys.'

Louis gazed, open-mouthed, back at the man, noticing that his Ravenclaw friend wore a similarly amazed expression.

'You know that "VY" doesn't work because the Veela genes overwhelm the Y-chromosome, right?' Alexander tried to think out loud.

'That's what your father said,' Philip concurred, 'although I would need to do significantly more research before I was confident…'

'Well,' Alexander continued, unwilling to be distracted. 'Couldn't this just mean that the extra "Y" that Louis got just meant that he had enough human in him to survive the Veela genes, and survive being an embryo?'

Philip hesitated. 'Well,' he exhaled, 'in very, very simple terms… maybe,' his voice quickened, 'but there's no proof to that, no proof at all, which is why we would like to conduct some more tests.'

Louis nodded. 'That's fine,' he breathed, 'as long as this will help Charlie.'

'Yes, yes,' the scientist assured him, 'we are trying to pinpoint which part of the genome is responsible for magical imprints or magical signatures: we want to see what happens to your DNA as you're exposed to magic… we want to see what changes.'

'Alright,' Louis answered in a small voice. 'What do I need to do?'

'Just come through into the lab,' Philip instructed. 'We'll need to wire you up for the first few tests, so we can monitor what's going on…'

Come that evening, Louis didn't think he'd ever worked so hard. He'd spent almost all morning running through physical test on top of physical test, with wires attached to almost every part of his body, following his every move. In the afternoon, he and Alexander had subjected each other to all the curses, hexes and spells that they could remember, leaving the men to check and analyse their DNA samples every few moments. This wasn't the worst of it, though: the scientists saved that for the end of the day.

'One last test, Louis,' Michael announced, as the eleven-year-old slumped onto a seat in the laboratory, grabbing eagerly for a glass of water. 'What do you think provokes you to take the Veela form, Louis?'

'When people are mean to me,' he answered, bluntly, downing the glass and avoiding eye contact with the man, 'or when I'm angry or upset.'

The scientist nodded. 'Alex,' he turned to his son, 'have you ever seen it happen?'

'Once,' the Ravenclaw shuddered.

'Did you see what caused it?'

Alexander nodded.

Michael took a breath. 'Do you think you could make it happen again?'

The twelve-year-old's face paled. 'I… I don't know,' he swallowed. 'I'm not sure. It was horrible.'

The scientist put a hand on his son's shoulder, turning back to the other first-year. 'Louis,' he asked, 'are you happy for us to try and do this?'

'Yes.'

Alexander winced. 'Then I'll try.'

'Excellent.' Michael clapped his hands together. 'The testing room is sound-proofed, as you know, so please don't hold back for fear of what we might think.' He paused a moment, watching his colleague fasten a device to Louis' left arm. 'This will take a sample of your blood, and therefore your DNA, when required. Please keep it attached at all times.' The man stood up. 'All yours.'

Moments later, the two first-years found themselves back in the testing room, facing each other nervously across its white walls.

'Veela boy,' Alexander offered weakly, his voice almost apologetic in its tone.

Louis shook his head. 'You have to sound like you mean it, Xan,' he reasoned.

'I don't, though,' the twelve-year-old protested. 'You know I don't. You know I'm not like _her_.'

'Yeah, I know,' Louis assured him, 'but maybe you can make the Veela part of me think that you are.'

Alexander nodded. 'Veela boy!' he shouted. 'Veela, Veela, Veela boy,' he repeated the chant that Miranda, Rose, Albus and Daniel had made up in their first week of school. 'Sorry,' he apologised, quickly realising he was having no effect.

'Try swearing at me,' Louis suggested. 'Pretend I'm Miranda, just get really angry,' he offered, but Alexander shook his head.

'I can't,' the black-haired boy argued.

'Just try.'

Alexander took a breath, steadying himself, before raising his voice into a yell. 'I hate you, Louis!' he screamed. 'You're a disgrace to your family, you're an attention-seeking little bastard, you're a fucking, a fucking…' he tailed off, his eyes watering as they burned red. 'I'm sorry,' he looked away, 'I can't do this.'

Louis turned, rapping his knuckles on the glass of the window that connected the testing room with the laboratory. 'This isn't working!' he yelled, in spite of the fact that he knew they would not be able to hear him. 'Look at him!' He banged on the glass again, angrily this time as the scientists shook their heads. 'Look at him!' Louis yelled again, feeling his fingers twitch as their nails sharpened, before a sudden burst of pain jabbed into his left arm.

'Xan,' he stammered, slowly realising what the soreness meant. 'Xan,' he swallowed, 'it's over, mate. It's okay.'

'I'm sorry,' the Ravenclaw apologised, again. 'I tried, really I did…'

'What have you got to be sorry for?' Louis dismissed his friend's apology. 'Not being able to swear at me?' He rolled his eyes. 'Merlin, how are you going to live with yourself after that?'

Alexander managed a thin smile.

'Come on,' Louis insisted, 'let's go.' He led his friend from the testing room and back into the laboratory. 'How could you do that?' he challenged Michael, even as Philip stepped forward to unfasten the device on his arm. 'How could you make him do that?'

'He agreed to it, Louis,' the man reasoned, slowly walking over to take his son's hand. 'Science isn't always straightforward,' he argued. 'Sometimes you have to make sacrifices.'

The redhead shook his head in disbelief, even as Michael comforted the twelve-year-old.

'Whatever,' Louis shrugged off the man's explanation. 'I'm not doing that again. What good is it if that's the only way I can transform? I'm not making my friends do that to themselves.'

'We won't need you to,' Philip assured him, fixing the sample of Louis' Veela blood securely into a machine. 'You've done all you can today. Michael and I have more to do, but we have everything that we need from you.'

Louis blinked. 'So I can go home?' he queried, breathing a sigh of relief when the scientist nodded a confirmation. 'Can Xander come with me?' he suggested. 'I mean, if you've still got work to do…'

Michael looked towards his son. 'It's fine by me,' he accepted. 'Alex?'

The Ravenclaw nodded, slowly. 'Yes,' he offered a watery smile. 'Yes, please.'

'Cool,' Louis grinned, turning to call for his distant cousin. 'Teddy!' he shouted. 'It's time to go!'

The teenage Auror sauntered over from the edge of the room. 'Yes, sir!' He completed a mocking salute. 'At your service!'

'Xan's coming with me,' Louis ignored the nineteen-year-old's sarcastic humour.

'Right on,' Teddy noted, holding out his hands. 'You know what to do,' he instructed. 'Now,' he continued, 'I couldn't help but hearing you talking about transformations. Might I remind you that this is my particular area of expertise…?'

All of the Slytherin first-years, plus Alexander, were present at the end of the Borthwick Ward the following morning, when the two scientists arrived, bleary-eyed and, Louis noticed, still wearing the same clothes as the previous evening. The two Aurors, Joshua and Teddy, flanked the men, and Harry and Greg were in close pursuit.

Nathan had been the first to ask his friend what exactly he had done the previous day, but the redheaded boy had not been keen to share the details, and Nathan hadn't pressed him, settling instead for Alexander's stilted summary.

'It was lots of important tests,' the Ravenclaw had explained, skipping any further details, 'and Dad thinks they might have worked it out.'

Now, as Lucas Brand read studiously through the scientists' briefing, it looked as if the first-years would find out what exactly had been discovered.

'I'll put up a shield around him,' Harry decided, 'we can't risk affecting the rest of the ward.'

'Good call,' Joshua agreed, watching his boss conjure a shield across the room, adding a dose of the Muffliato spell around Charlie's bed for good measure.

Lucas was still engrossed in the computer printout that Philip had given him. 'You think you have isolated the source of the magical signature?' he asked, coming to the back page.

Philip nodded. 'It occurred to us after we found Louis' karyotype,' he began.

'Karyo-what?' Harry blinked.

The scientist hid a grin. 'His DNA, his genetic code,' Philip clarified. 'I'll explain more later, but it made us think that this magical signature would be hidden in the DNA too.' He paused. 'Particularly when I thought about what Greg said last summer, about an affinity that passed from generation to generation. We looked through the rest of the boys' genome, trying to identify which genes were active when they were casting spells. As far as we can tell, there is a cluster of proteins on chromosome 18 that are central to any magical activity.'

'Lucas,' Michael took over the explanation, turning to the Healer, 'for some reason, this boy has a mixture of magical and non-magical proteins on his chromosomes, which may well explain why normal medicine hasn't roused him.' He produced a syringe from his lab coat. 'We believe that we can awaken this boy by directly stimulating his blood with the _Rennervate_ charm.'

Lucas stared back at the older man. 'I have almost no idea what you are talking about,' he admitted.

Michael took a deep breath. 'In its simplest terms, we would like to perform a blood transfusion: remove the blood, manipulate the proteins, and then re-infuse the blood back into his body.'

'Alright,' Lucas nodded, 'I think I follow. Is this safe?'

The two scientists shared a glance. 'It should be,' Philip answered. 'Storing and transfusing a patient's own blood has been used reasonably regularly in muggle medicine… and for more nefarious purposes…'

'Such as?' Harry's Auror senses kicked in.

'Sport,' Philip explained. 'Athletes store their own blood, before injecting it again before an event, giving them a significant performance boost. Entirely immoral, of course,' he concluded, 'but safe, so long as you look after the blood.'

'We'd still like you to monitor his condition,' Michael added. 'Manipulating the blood outside the body has rather fewer precedents.'

'Are you happy with this, Lucas?' the Head Auror checked.

Lucas grimaced. 'Not entirely,' he argued, 'but he's been here four days now, without any sign of change in his condition. I suppose we can give it a go,' he conceded, 'but if he deteriorates, that's it. We stop. Instantly.' He took a handful of steps forward, drawing a stool beside Charlie's beside, and taking hold of the boy's right hand as he set his wand down on the patient's shoulder. 'Over to you.' The Healer watched hawkishly as Philip carefully inserted the end of a needle into Charlie's left arm, slowly draining a bagful of the boy's blood.

'Now for the new bit,' the scientist remarked, drawing a final sample into a small syringe. 'We make sure the structure is as we had expected,' he opened a silver briefcase, decanting the syringe into a container within, before closing the case again as a motor inside whirred furiously. 'All clear?' Philip showed the readings on a display built in to the case to his colleague, who nodded once, before holding his wand to the sample of Charlie's blood for a split second and closing the briefcase once more.

'Moment of truth,' Michael narrated, waiting for the metal case's insistent whirring to die away, before inspecting its display for the second time. 'All clear,' he announced, bringing his wand to the crimson blood bag, which shimmered for a brief moment, 'and now for the re-infusion. Is he holding up, Lucas?'

The Healer nodded, briskly, clearing the scientists to proceed with the next stage of their plan. Carefully, Philip fitted a fresh needle into the eleven-year-old's arm and began the slow process of returning the blood to Charlie's system.

'I'm going to talk to the boys,' Greg decided, watching the blood bag start to empty. 'They're not idiots,' he explained, 'they'll know a Muffliato when they see one. They'll have questions, and they deserve answers.' He turned away, leaving the range of the enchantment, to face the other first-years.

Daniel was the first to speak. 'What's going on?' he asked, abruptly. 'Is Charlie okay?'

The teacher nodded, picking his way across the room before conjuring a stool beside Nathan's bed. 'Your Dads think they've figured it out,' he replied, looking from the bed-bound Slytherin to the waiting Ravenclaw. 'I'm not going to pretend I understand it, but they said something about DNA and chromosomes,' his gaze shifted to Louis, 'and something they found out about you last night.'

Louis shuddered, feeling his friends' attention turn towards him. 'It's complicated,' he murmured, 'but they think they worked out what's wrong…'

'There's nothing wrong,' Alexander contradicted his friend almost immediately. 'You're just different.'

Louis looked away.

'Anyway,' Greg continued, 'Philip and Michael are trying something complicated, involving removing Charlie's blood and injecting it again. I can't tell you any more than that. I don't think I understand any more than that.'

'Is he going to be a wizard?' Nathan asked

Greg shook his head. 'I have absolutely no idea,' he admitted. 'I've just told you everything I know, guys… I know it's not much, but I figured you deserved to know.'

'Thanks, sir,' Albus acknowledged.

'That's okay,' Greg smiled, getting back to his feet. 'I'll let you know if anything else happens,' he added, before turning and heading back into the confines of Harry's Muffliato charm.

'At least we've got one adult that we know can trust,' Albus remarked, caustically, 'not like my Dad.'

'You don't really mean that, Al, do you?' Louis challenged his cousin.

Albus shrugged. 'He won't even talk about it to me,' the black-haired boy defended his assertion. 'It's like he still thinks I'm a little kid,' he protested.

'You're only eleven, Al…' Louis hazarded a counter-argument.

'That's old enough to go to Hogwarts!' Albus snapped back, 'and old enough to get attacked, and put in hospital, in case you haven't noticed!'

'Okay, Albus,' Daniel intervened, 'I think we've all noticed that,' he tried to calm his friend, before deciding that an abrupt change of subject was in order. 'Has anyone started the Herbology homework yet?' he asked.

Meanwhile, the contents of Charlie's blood bag were slowly draining back into the boy's arm.

'Still good, Lucas?' Michael asked.

'Still good,' the Healer echoed, tightening his grip on the eleven-year-old's hand as he felt his wand arm waver. 'Maybe better than good.'

The adults fell silent again, staring at the deep red liquid as it sank down the transparent tubes and back into the veins of the still-unconscious boy.

'Almost there,' Philip announced as the last droplets filtered down the tubing, leaving the bag empty but for a trace of residue, before the scientist reached to detach the apparatus. 'Any signs?'

'Yes,' Lucas nodded. 'Yes, but they're faint. Give him time.' The Healer lifted his wand from Charlie's shoulder, placing it over the top of his ribcage and whispering a series of quiet incantations as the boy's breathing grew deeper. 'I think he's coming around,' Lucas announced, withdrawing his wand as he watched Charlie's eyes slowly blinking open, before the eleven-year-old's whole body convulsed with a fearful scream.

'KEVIN!'

Lucas let go of the boy's hand, instinctively.

'Get away from me!' Charlie yelled out again, curling himself up into a tight ball. 'Where's Nathan? What have you done to him?'

Harry turned to prompt Greg to find the blond boy, but the teacher had already turned to do so.

'Nathan,' he blustered, steadying himself against the rail at the end of the boy's bunk. 'We need you. Now.'

Nathan looked up. 'What?'

'Charlie's awake,' the teacher explained, 'but he's… I don't know… he's shouting for you,' Greg swallowed. 'Can you get up?'

'I'll have to,' the eleven-year-old swung himself to his feet, stumbling for a moment, before Alexander reached out to steady his fall. 'Thanks, Xan,' he smiled, thinly, before making his unsteady way across the ward, edging past the gathering of adults towards his friend's bed. 'Charlie…?' he stammered.

'Nath…?' Charlie's eyes flickered between the blond boy and the near-motionless Healer. 'You're not, you're not…' he blinked. 'You're alright.'

'Yeah,' Nathan nodded, 'I'm fine. Are you?'

After a moment's hesitation, Charlie mirrored his friend's nod.

'Charlie,' Greg spoke softly, kneeling down beside the eleven-year-old's bed. 'My name's Greg. I'm one of Nathan's teachers. Who's Kevin?'

The boy shivered. 'You mean,' his eyes darted back towards Lucas twice more, 'he isn't?'

Greg shook his head. 'This is Lucas Brand. He's a Healer, a doctor,' Greg switched into muggle-friendly language for a moment, 'and one of my oldest friends.'

'Oh,' Charlie relaxed in an instant, his legs slumping back down onto the bed again, and his words starting to come out in a tangled hurry. 'It's just, he looked like someone who I saw once, who was trying to catch me, and I thought, I thought it might have been him again, he might have been trying to get me…'

'It's okay, Charlie,' Greg reassured the boy, reaching out to take his hand. 'You're safe here,' he promised. 'Who did you think he was?'

Charlie glanced towards Nathan.

'Go on,' the blond boy encouraged him. 'We'll believe you.'

'Well…' Charlie took a deep breath, turning to look at his old schoolfriend. 'You know all of the _Just Like Magic_ things that kept happening?' The eleven-year-old rubbed the back of his hand across his eyes. 'Well, they came to my school. They said they were a charity, but I know they weren't,' he recalled, 'and the guy that came, he was called Kevin, and I thought he looked, he looked like you…' Charlie turned to face the Healer, whose had now turned ashen white. 'I'm sorry,' he began to apologise, only for Greg to cut him off.

'Lukie,' the teacher used one of his friend's old nicknames. 'You don't think…?'

Lucas nodded. 'I do think,' he swallowed. 'There's nothing that bastard wouldn't do.'


	28. House of Cards

'Greg…' Harry spoke slowly, choosing his words carefully. 'There's nothing that _who_ wouldn't do?'

Greg swallowed, looking from the Head Auror to Lucas Brand's pale face, and back again. 'Not here,' he answered, simply. 'Come on, Luc,' he beckoned. 'Auror Office.'

Harry nodded, cancelling the Muffliato charm with a single flick of his wand, before turning swiftly on his heel to lead the two younger men from the ward, leaving Nathan to take Lucas' seat beside his friend's bed.

'What… what happened?' Charlie stammered. 'Who was that man, in the park? What did he do? What did _you_ do?'

Nathan swallowed, looking from the other boy's bed to the gathered adults. 'What can I tell him?'

Joshua Tregeagle answered on the men's behalf. 'Well, he's got an imprint, and he's in St. Mungo's. I reckon you're going to struggle to explain that if you don't start at the beginning.'

Nathan smiled, thinly. 'Yeah,' he acknowledged, taking a deep breath. 'I guess.' He turned back to his old friend. 'The man was a wizard, and he was trying to curse us. I tried to defend us with a shield charm.'

'What?' Charlie stared back at the blond boy. 'What?'

'It's the truth,' Nathan added, his voice quiet and almost apologetic. 'I swear I'm not making it up,' he shivered, 'you've been unconscious for four days! Why would I make it up?'

The brown-haired boy held his stare, unblinking. 'A _wizard_?' he echoed, disbelievingly. 'A real life wizard?'

'Yeah. _Just Like Magic_.'

Charlie's eyes widened, and his mouth fell open. 'You… You mean…? That van?'

'Yeah,' Nathan confirmed. 'That's why you and Connor couldn't always remember it properly, because they were wiping your memory…'

'Connor!' The mention of the other boy's name startled Charlie's brain into a panicked shout. 'Is he alright? What's happened to him?'

'He's fine,' Nathan talked over his friend, gesturing back over his shoulder. 'He's here, too. St. Mungo's Magical Hospital.'

Charlie pushed himself up slowly, supporting himself carefully against the end of his bed, to peer beyond Nathan's body to the other blond boy. 'Okay,' he mumbled, turning to face the other first-years, still gathered around Nathan's now-empty bed. 'Who are they?'

'My friends,' Nathan answered simply, beckoning the other boys across the ward, and the watching adults stepped backwards obligingly. 'Louis, Dan, Albus and Xan.'

'Hi, Charlie,' Louis was the first to speak up, and the other three first-years quickly echoed his greeting.

'Hi,' Charlie managed a cautious reply. 'Are you all wizards, too?'

'Yeah,' Albus answered. 'Everyone is at Hogwarts.'

'Hogwarts?' Charlie blinked again. 'I thought your school was called Merchiston Castle…?'

Nathan blushed. 'Um, yeah,' he swallowed, 'about that… I couldn't tell you its real name before, it's against the law to tell people about the magical world.'

'So how come that person was after me… and after Connor? How did he know about us? How did he know where we were?' A stream of questions began to pour from Charlie's mouth.

'I don't know,' Nathan whispered. 'That's the problem. I don't think anyone does… but maybe, if they can find out who this Kevin is, they can work it out.'

On the other side of the fourth floor, Harry was trying to do exactly that.

'Kevin Brand,' Greg spoke on behalf of his old friend, who still stood ashen-faced in the makeshift office. 'Lucas' older brother… half-brother. He was three years above us at Hogwarts, in the same year as Matt and Oscar.'

Harry blinked. 'Matt and Oscar?'

'Matt was Quidditch Captain,' Greg explained, briefly, 'and he grew up in the same village as me. He's probably the reason I ended up in Slytherin.'

'Right,' Harry acknowledged, picking up a quill and quickly charming it to take rough notes, 'sorry. Back to Kevin. Did you know him well?'

Greg shook his head. 'Not really,' he answered, 'but well enough to know how to keep out of the way,' he shuddered involuntarily at the memory. 'Merlin, if Slytherins all used to be like him then I can tell why people used to hate us. I couldn't stand him, none of us could… Matt and Oscar often slept in the year above's dorm to avoid him. There were no boys in the year above them,' the teacher clarified.

'Lucas,' Harry turned his attention to the Healer. 'You must know him better?'

The red-haired man shook his head, slowly. 'Not really. I used to stay the holidays at the others' houses, rather than go back and spend any time with _him_ , but even when we were both home, I didn't see him much. He used to shut himself up in his room and read weird books… Dark books…'

'He was never shy of calling us mudblood, neither,' Greg recalled, 'the bastard.'

Harry nodded. 'I get the feeling it might be worth my while having a few words with your brother, Lucas,' he decided. 'Do you know where he lives now?'

'No,' Lucas replied, 'sorry. He got a job at the Ministry right after graduating from Hogwarts, and left home straight away. It was the end of my fourth year. I don't think he ever wrote… or if he did, my mum never told me.' He took a deep breath. 'I never missed him, not once.'

'Thanks, Lucas, Greg,' Harry watched his quill finish its note-taking. 'Not as helpful as I'd hoped for, but I guess it might be a start. I'll get someone onto this.'

'Good luck,' Greg offered, making to turn for the door, before hesitating. 'Harry,' he began. 'I'm going to take Dan to the Falcons-Wasps game tonight; Theo is playing. I wondered if Al might want to come along… if you thought that it was safe, given, well…'

The Auror looked up from his desk. 'You'll be fine,' he assured the other man, 'but take Teddy with you, just in case. What time's it start?'

'Eight o'clock.'

'Fine,' Harry nodded. 'I guess we'll still be here by then. You guys can Floo out…' he paused. 'Have you got space for Al to sleep over at yours afterwards?'

'We can make some,' Greg smiled. 'I do teach Transfiguration, you know.'

Daniel shivered as he followed his teacher up the narrow staircase that led to the back of a bank of terracing at the Bodmin Moor Millennium Stadium, home of the Falmouth Falcons Quidditch team. 'It's cold, sir,' he complained.

'I warned you,' Greg retorted, 'and anyway, what did you expect? It's the middle of December on the top of the moor.'

'It's still cold,' Daniel countered, grimly.

The teacher smiled. 'Is he always in this good a mood at Hogwarts, Al?'

'Not always,' Albus grinned, 'but usually after Charms lessons…'

'Oh, shut up, Al,' Daniel crossed his arms, pulling his coat tightly across his chest. 'It's not as if you like it either, is it?'

Albus laughed. 'At least I don't just sulk all the way through my homework.'

Daniel stuck his tongue out.

'Ah, real mature,' Teddy put in. 'Was I like this when I was a first-year, Greg?'

The teacher rolled his eyes. 'Bloody hell, yes,' he recalled, 'and then some. Metamorph plus werewolf plus grumpy teenager is not a good combination.'

This time it was the turn of the two eleven-year-olds to laugh at Teddy's expense, and the group of four wizards settled down to pass the few minutes left before the start of the match.

'Have you been to many games before, Al?' Daniel changed the subject as the cheers of the home crowd signalled the beginning of the fixture.

'Yeah,' the other boy nodded, 'Mum used to play for the Harpies, so we've been to see them quite a lot. I've never been here before, though.'

'It won't be pretty, Dan,' Greg cautioned. 'Remember the way that Slytherin played against Gryffindor? Falmouth have been playing like that for years…'

'Since the Broadmoor brothers,' Teddy added.

Greg nodded. 'The Wasps will want this to be over as quickly as possible… and without anyone getting hurt.'

'Too late,' the other man winced as a bludger struck Theo flush on the left shoulder, sending the Wimbourne player spiralling to the ground as he clung on desperately to the broom with his remaining good arm.

Daniel gasped, watching the beater grab for his wand as he touched down, before holding it tight against his injured shoulder.

'Healing spells,' Greg noted. 'Pay attention when you learn them in Defence next year. They matter.'

The boys nodded, mutely, their eyes still focused on the teacher's stricken friend.

'You know the worst thing about being hit early on?' Teddy remarked, before answering his own rhetorical question. 'They keep on aiming at you for the rest of the game.'

The children flinched as another bludger passed within inches of Theo's head, only for the blond man's instincts to help him snap his neck away when it had seemed certain that the ball would strike him on the temple.

'Come on, Theo!' Daniel yelled out. 'Don't just let them get you! Hit them back!'

'That's the spirit, Dan,' Greg smiled, 'and don't you worry, he can look after himself out there… not that he doesn't come home with a few bruises now and then.'

It didn't take long for the teacher's prediction to be reflected in the action on the pitch, and within minutes Theo had exacted revenge on the Falmouth beater, striking him hard in the small of the back to the sound of jeers and catcalls from the home crowd.

'I can't believe they didn't use to wear helmets,' Teddy shook his head as another bludger clanged against the protection surrounding the Wasps' keeper's skull. 'Imagine how much that would have hurt…'

'I guess they were better at dodging,' Greg suggested. 'Now you don't really need to worry if you get your head in the way, so you fly differently.'

'What, you think they don't mind if they get hit?' the Auror queried. 'That's mental.'

Greg grinned. 'They're pro Quidditch players, mate,' he noted. 'Do you think they're all _that_ sane?'

'Maybe not,' the other man acknowledged, watching the Wimbourne keeper take another blow as he spread himself to deflect a Falmouth shot over the left-hand hoop, 'but I bet the Wasps can't wait for this to be over.'

Teddy's analysis was exactly right – and despite close attention from the Falcons' beaters, the Wasps seeker was able to pluck the snitch from the base of his own centre post as the clock ticked down towards the end of the first hour.

'Job done,' Greg observed, watching the successful seeker's team mates cluster around his broom. 'I bet Theo's black and blue later tonight, though.' He clapped his hands together. 'Well then,' he continued, 'back to the Apparation zone and home to London.'

'Can't we Apparate from here?' Albus queried. 'Every time we went to the Harpies to watch Mum we could always just go straight home after the game…'

'Security,' Teddy gave a one-word answer. 'Since the Dorset Derby… you know what happened there. All the League stadiums have been enchanted so that people can only come in and out in a special zone. Even Aurors,' he added, pre-empting his cousin's next question. 'So there's nothing to do but join the queues with everyone else.'

It took a little more than twenty minutes for the four wizards to filter away from the Millennium Stadium and travel instantly back to Flint Avenue in West London.

'Thanks for tonight, Teddy,' Greg bade farewell to his friend. 'See you at the Hospital again tomorrow?'

'I guess so, mate,' the Auror nodded. 'See you, boys.' He gave the eleven-year-olds a quick mock salute, before vanishing into the London night and leaving Greg, Albus and Daniel to climb the steps that led to the teacher's flat.

'I don't get it,' Daniel muttered, dropping down onto the longer of the flat's two black sofas as the living room's lights flickered into life. 'Quidditch,' he continued, 'sometimes it seems like half the sport is about hitting each other with bludgers, yet when Louis just grabs the other seeker's broom it's like he's committed murder or something.'

Albus grunted, sitting down alongside his friend. 'I guess it's always been like that. Bludgers are part of the game… grabbing someone else's broom isn't.'

'But Gryffindor would have won if Louis hadn't have stopped him!'

'It's not part of the game, though, Dan,' Greg interrupted the two boys' dispute. 'It's like rugby… you can tackle someone, but you can't trip them.'

'That's different, though,' Daniel protested. 'That's like why you're not allowed to trip people playing football. Grabbing someone's broom is nothing like as dangerous as hitting a bludger at them!'

'Well, handball isn't dangerous when you're playing football, is it?' Greg challenged the boy's logic. 'So should that be okay?'

Daniel shook his head. 'That's not the same thing,' he argued. 'I'm just saying it's stupid that you have a whole game that's about beating the other team up, and you can't do something as simple as that. It doesn't make sense.'

Albus sighed. 'That's not the only thing that doesn't make sense,' he added. 'No one has a bad thing to say about female Veela, no one… but look how Louis gets treated. Even the Aurors called him a half-breed,' his voice rose, 'and my Dad didn't do anything to stop them!'

'Al…' Greg cautioned, only for the boy to cut him off immediately.

'It's true!' the boy insisted. 'You were there, you saw it!'

'I know, Al, but…'

'But what?' Albus snapped. 'Adults always tell you to treat everybody the same, but they don't even do it themselves!'

Greg paused, waiting for the eleven-year-old to fall silent. 'Albus,' he began again, 'do you always say everything you really want to say?'

The boy blinked. 'What?'

'Do you always say what you really mean?' the teacher persisted.

'I'm not a liar!' Albus protested, jerking back to his feet. 'I don't lie to people!'

Greg took a deep breath, before turning to face the other first-year. 'Dan,' he asked, 'when you wrote to Connor, did you always tell the truth?'

'That's different, though!' Albus didn't let his friend answer the man's question.

'Why?' the teacher challenged him.

'Because… because…' Albus tailed off, his eyes quickly flickering around the room. 'It's got to be… We _couldn't_ tell Connor anything else!'

Greg raised an eyebrow. 'But you could send him your owl, right?'

'That was different, too!' This time the eleven-year-old shouted his answer. 'You said it yourself, you can break the Statute if someone's life is in danger!'

The teacher took a backward step and settled onto the other black sofa, set at right angles to its partner. 'It's always different, isn't it?'

Albus blinked. 'It was!' he defended himself.

'So how come you're so sure it wasn't _different_ for your Dad in that meeting?' Greg changed his tack. 'How come you're sure he didn't want to tell that tosser exactly what you did, but couldn't?'

'Remember when Sammy picked Louis for the Quidditch team,' Daniel put in, 'and we'd heard him arguing with that girl, when she called Louis a ginger freak… and Louis thought that was what Sammy thought too, cause he didn't argue with her about it.'

Albus sunk back down onto the leather sofa, his argument deflating out of his lungs and his head sinking into his hands.

'It's okay, Al,' the teacher reassured him, getting to his own feet as Daniel put an arm around his friend's shoulders. 'Your heart is in the right place, mate, and when that's the case then people will forgive you an awful lot. Your Dad's proud of you, Albus, and everything you've done this year.'

The boy lifted his head slowly, rubbing his reddened eyes. 'Everything?'

A wry smile edged onto Greg's face. 'There a few things I suppose he doesn't need to know about.'

Albus managed a watery reflection of the man's smile. 'Thanks, sir,' he mumbled.

'That's alright, mate,' the teacher nodded, turning to pick a stack of envelopes up from the kitchen table and tossing them towards Daniel's lap. 'Have a look through that lot,' he instructed. 'Toss the junk in the bin, let me know who the cards are from, and then stick them up on the wall over by the fireplace.' Greg crossed the wooden floorboards to stand in front of the hob rings. 'Theo's never happy unless he's got some pasta to come home to.'

A few minutes later, with the silver saucepan bubbling happily to itself, the two boys had sorted their stack of mail to leave a pile of handwritten envelopes that could only belong to Christmas cards, and began to work their way through their contents, letting the teacher know who had sent him season's greetings.

'Zac Davies,' Daniel announced.

'I know him,' Albus recognised the name. 'He plays for Puddlemere, doesn't he?'

'Yep,' Greg confirmed. 'He was in Slytherin with me, Theo and Lucas. It was the four of us.'

Daniel picked up another card. 'Horace Slughorn,' he read, 'that's a weird name.'

Albus snorted. 'He used to be Head of Slytherin!' he told his friend. 'He taught at Hogwarts for ages. He taught my parents… and _their_ parents.'

Daniel nodded, picking up an envelope covered with untidy handwriting. 'This one's for me,' he noted, 'from Max Deverill. He says he hopes everyone will be alright.'

'That's weird,' Albus scowled. 'Everyone _will_ be alright? How come he knows where you live, anyway?'

Daniel shrugged. 'I guess most people in Slytherin know I'm staying with Professor Bennett,' he theorised, 'and anyone can probably find out where a teacher lives.'

'Yeah, maybe,' the other boy didn't argue, picking up another unopened card. 'This one's for you as well,' he held it up. 'Do you want to open it?'

'Nah, it's okay. You do it.' Daniel reached for another card, running his thumb across the top of the envelope. 'This one's from someone called Aidan Mills, do you know who he is? Al?' He turned to face his friend. 'Albus…?'

The other boy's face had turned ashen white. 'D… Dan…' he stammered. 'Who's Stephanie?'


	29. Stephanie

Daniel's mouth dropped open. 'Stephanie?' he repeated his friend's question.

Albus nodded. 'Here,' he added, simply, passing the other boy the card he had just opened before sitting in silence and watching him read its message.

'Stephanie…' Daniel mumbled, 'Stephanie is my mum...' He passed the card back to Albus before letting his head fall into his hands, his elbows resting on his knees.

'Shit.' Albus managed a thin, ironic smile, before getting to his feet and carrying the offending message across to Greg, who had already been distracted from his cooking by the boys' reactions. 'I think you should read this, sir.'

The teacher took the card from the eleven-year-old, opening it to read an untidy scrawl of fountain pen. Letters of wildly differing sizes barely managed to keep in line as their words fell haphazardly across its inside. 'How are you enjoying your new school, you little shit?' Greg read the first line aloud, before following the rest of the message inside his head.

The quiet only broke as the flat's front door clattered open and Theo pushed his way inside. 'Greg!' he greeted his flatmate brightly, only for the other man to shake his head.

'Not now, mate,' he cautioned, holding the card out. 'Dan just found this, from his mother. Basically tells him she's glad he left, and that I should get rid of him too.'

'You're not going to kick him out, are you?' Albus queried, nervously.

Greg turned back to face the boy. 'Do you really think…' The teacher tailed off, noticing that the other first-year was still slumped, head down, on the black sofa. 'Fix your own pasta, Theo,' he whispered to his friend, before padding slowly across the flat to sit down beside the unhappy boy. 'Danny,' he began, reaching an arm around the eleven-year-old's shoulder. 'I _promise_ that's not going to happen here. I don't know how it's gonna work out, mate, but if you want to stick around with me and Theo then you'll always be more than welcome.'

Daniel didn't answer, but instead shuffled along the sofa to rest his head against the man's side.

'It's okay, mate,' the teacher reassured the boy once again. 'Just ignore it.'

The eleven-year-old looked up, blinking hard and hoping that nobody would comment on his reddened eyes. 'What about the last bit, though?' he asked. 'When she says she's learned about our world, and that I'm going to have a nasty surprise.'

'She's just trying to scare you,' Albus suggested. 'Right?'

'Probably,' Greg agreed, 'but still, I want to know how she's found out my address.'

Theo nodded. 'It must mean that she's managed to find some kind of the link to the magical world, right?'

'Right,' the teacher didn't argue. 'Sounds like your Dad ought to have a look at this, Al?' he suggested. 'No complaints about that?'

Albus shook his head. 'No,' he confirmed, before reaching out to lift another card from the glass-topped living room table. 'We should take this one too,' he added, picking up the card bearing Max Deverill's signature. 'He says, "I hope everyone _will_ be alright…" He's not stupid, he wouldn't write that for no reason. It doesn't make sense!'

'Fine, Al,' Greg nodded. 'Does Max know anything about all of this?'

Albus paused, deep in thought for a moment. 'I don't think so,' he ventured, 'but he has been helping Dan and Nath send their letters to Charlie and Connor all term… and there was that attack at his house back in, like, November, wasn't there? Louis probably knows him better than we do: he's on the Quidditch team with him.'

'Never be surprised,' the teacher murmured. 'I think Louis is staying with Nathan tonight, isn't he?'

'Yeah,' Albus confirmed.

'No time like the present, then,' Greg gently shook Daniel's shoulder, before standing up and heading for his fireplace. 'I'll see you later, guys.'

Greg couldn't help but recall the first time he had set foot in North Ascot as he Apparated into the side of the village churchyard a handful of minutes later, having first checked that the Head Auror was happy for him to ask the questions he had in mind. 'I guess those two boys are getting on a little bit better tonight than they did that afternoon,' he recalled, talking to himself as he stepped through the tree-lined cemetery towards the iron gates of Church House, the Llewellyns' family home. 'Wish it was that warm again, though…'

Four months earlier, the wizard had bypassed the security codes on the door with a wave of his wand, but now, with Philip Llewellyn very much aware of the magical world, there was no such need to be underhand.

'Hi, Philip,' the teacher announced his arrival over an intercom, 'it's Greg. Are the boys still up?'

'Probably,' the reply crackled back. 'Is everything alright?'

Greg allowed himself a smirk. 'Define alright,' he observed, wryly. 'No one else is in St. Mungo's, if that's what you mean. I'm just trying to follow something up that these two might know about better than anyone.'

'Righto,' the scientist acknowledged, pressing a button that remotely opened the tall gates. 'See you in a moment.'

'See you,' Greg echoed, turning to make his way up the gravelled drive towards the white walls of the old house, noticing as he approached the building that the householder now stood in the doorway to offer a greeting. 'Thanks, Phil.'

Philip nodded. 'They're in Nathan's room. Top of the stairs and first on your right,' he explained, before hesitating as he watched the other man climb the staircase. 'It's not any more trouble, is it?'

'I hope not,' Greg paused to answer, 'but given that nobody properly knows what on earth is going on here, I can't promise anything.'

'Understood. Let me know if you need anything else,' he turned away, leaving the teacher to continue his way upstairs, following his directions to knock on the door of the boys' room.

'Nathan?' Greg called out. 'Louis?'

It only took a moment for the blond boy to open up. 'Sir…?' he blinked, taking a step back and pulling the door wide. 'Um, do you want to come in?'

'Thanks,' the teacher accepted the boy's invitation, allowing himself a thin smile as he watched the eleven-year-old hurry to clear a place for him to sit, before turning his attention to the other boy in the room. 'It's a bit different from the first time you came, hey Louis?'

'Just a bit,' the redhead agreed, before changing the topic of their conversation rather than dwelling on the memory. 'How come you're here, sir?'

'Straight to the point, right?' Greg tried to deflect the abrupt nature of Louis' question. 'Well, fair enough. Dan has had a bit of a weird Christmas card come through, from Max Deverill, and I just wondered, seeing as you know him better than either Al or Dan…' The teacher tailed off, noticing the colour draining from Nathan's face. 'Nathan…?'

The blond boy had begun to shiver, and his breathing turned staccato as Greg turned to face him.

'Nathan?' the teacher repeated, reaching out a hand to steady the boy's shoulder, but the eleven-year-old only looked down at his own feet. 'Louis,' Greg looked back to the other boy, struggling to find the words he wanted to use. 'Do you know… did something happen…'

Louis swallowed, glancing anxiously between the man and boy. 'Are we going to get into trouble?' he repeated a fear he'd voiced at St. Mungo's hospital just a handful of days earlier.

Greg winced. 'Look, mate,' he hesitated, 'I don't really know what's going on here any more than you do… maybe even less, if Max is involved somehow. All I want to do is work out what's happening, and help catch whoever's behind it all.'

Nathan shuddered, violently. 'But, but…' he stammered, 'what if, what if I did something, something when I was only trying to help…'

Greg took a deep breath, shifting himself across to sit beside the frightened boy. 'Then we'll find a way to make up for it,' he answered, simply. 'If we help solve this, then I reckon any little trouble's got to be worth it along the way.' He paused. 'What happened, Nathan?'

The blond boy sniffed hard, clearing his throat. 'Can you remember that story about his grandma's house being burned down?' he asked. 'Well, Max has been helping us deliver our letters all year, because he knows the stamp charm,' his words started to hurry. 'Then that day came, and the Prophet was saying that there was bound to be some connection between everything that happened… and I told him, I told him about Charlie, and gave him his address… I just wanted to help…' Nathan blinked twice, before looking back up at the teacher, who acknowledged his confession with a tap on the shoulder.

'Would Max have known Connor's address, as well? Greg asked, and the boy nodded an answer as the teacher continued to think out loud. 'This was before anybody went after either Charlie or Connor, too, right?'

Nathan took a moment to process Greg's thoughts, before jolting away from him with a sudden start. 'You don't think… you don't think they only knew where they lived because, because…' he tailed off, unable to finish the sentence that had formed in his mind.

Greg swore under his breath. 'I don't know, Nathan, no more than you do…'

'Max wouldn't do that!' Louis broke his own silence with a shout of protest. 'I swear he wouldn't… and anyway, why would he be writing a Christmas card to Dan if he had?'

'Same answer, Louis,' the teacher sighed, 'same answer. I don't know.' He lowered his voice, turning to address the other first-year. 'Nathan,' he paused for a moment, waiting for a response that didn't come. 'I'm sorry I had to come and ask you about all this… but we needed to know if there was any connection to Max, and there is…' He broke off, noticing the blond boy's tense shoulders and shallow breathing. 'I'm so proud that you were brave enough to tell me the truth.'

Nathan managed a weak smile, and the teacher shuffled down the side of the bed to sit beside his pupil once more. 'Thank you, Nathan,' he gave the eleven-year-old a moment to compose himself before speaking again. 'Now,' he continued, 'the last thing I want you to go and do is to spend all your time worrying about it all now. Even if they did use that letter to find out where Charlie and Connor lived, it's not your fault. If they wanted to know it that badly, they'd have managed to work it out some other way.'

'I… I guess,' the blond boy stammered.

Greg smiled. 'Good lad.' He ruffled the boy's hair. 'Just remember, mate, whatever happens, Slytherins…'

'…Stick Together,' Nathan completed the teacher's sentence, his thin smile growing more determined as he spoke.

'Always,' the man confirmed, 'and that's me included, too. Whatever happens, I'm on your side.' He stood up, letting his hand rest on the eleven-year-old's shoulder for a moment as he did so. 'I'll see you soon, guys.'

'See you,' Louis spoke for the two boys, watching the teacher leave the room before pushing the door shut in the man's wake. 'I've never shown anyone else this before,' he changed the subject of their conversation, taking a deep breath, 'but I've been talking to Teddy about how he manages his transformations, and I think I'm starting to understand it, just a little bit…'

It didn't surprise Greg to find out that both Daniel and Albus were still awake when he returned to his London flat later that evening, despite the clock on the wall having edged past eleven.

'Were you gonna send them to bed, Theo?' the teacher asked, shoving his flatmate along one of the black leather seats in order to create enough space for himself to sit down. 'Or just wait for them to fall asleep on the sofa?'

Theo grunted. 'We never went to bed early when we were first-years, did we?'

Greg rolled his eyes. 'We did a lot of things when we were first-years,' he recalled. 'That doesn't mean we should be encouraging these guys to do the same.' The teacher turned to face the children. 'Early start tomorrow, lads,' he explained. 'I've got an eight o'clock meeting with Al's dad.'

This was enough to divert the boys' attention from the television set in front of them. 'What did you find out?' Albus asked. 'Did Lou and Nath know anything?'

'You can ask them tomorrow,' Greg dismissed the question, 'and that's final.'

Albus sighed. 'Night, sir,' he grumbled, nudging his friend on the arm and pushing himself slowly to his feet.

'Night,' Daniel echoed, standing up and leading his friend into the room the two boys would be sharing overnight.

'Night, guys,' Greg acknowledged. 'See you in the morning.' He leant backwards, twisting over his shoulder to watch the flat door close, before quickly casting the silencing charm in its direction. 'This is getting messy, mate,' he summarised. 'The boys are right. This goes way deeper than coincidence… not that I ever thought it didn't.'

The teacher shared the story of his day, from Charlie's revival and the frightened boy's false identification of Lucas as Kevin Brand, through to Nathan's revelation of the link between Max and the muggle-born boys.

'Good job we finished Falmouth off quickly, then,' Theo observed, wryly.

Greg raised an eyebrow. 'Good for you as well, mate,' he countered, 'the way they were aiming at you from the start.'

His housemate didn't argue. 'What do you reckon, then?' he turned back to the subject of the mystery connection between the first-years. 'What next?'

'No idea,' Greg shrugged. 'I guess I wait for that meeting with Harry, tomorrow morning like I said. It's his job, not mine.'

Theo nodded. 'If it's that bastard Kevin involved, then count me in for whatever help you need.'

It was a few minutes after eight o'clock by the time Greg had left Albus and Daniel in the Borthwick Ward, leaving himself free to meet the wizarding boy's father in the privacy of his makeshift office.

'Sorry, Harry,' the teacher apologised. 'Boys and mornings… not a great combination.'

'Tell me about it,' the Auror mused, leafing through a collection of loose pages on his desk. 'Thanks for that update on the Deverills last night, Greg,' he acknowledged. 'I've tried to dig out everything we know about them, and about Kevin Brand… and I'm afraid there's not much to report.' Harry turned a sparse sheet of parchment around to face the other man. 'On leave from the Ministry at the moment. He no longer lives at the address on our records, and he's left no information as to where he might be found.'

' _Slytherin_ ,' Greg remarked, cynically. 'Where do we begin, then?' he asked.

Harry pushed his chair back and away from his desk. 'Somewhere we _do_ know somebody lives,' he asserted. 'Time for a parent-teacher meeting with the Deverills. Ever been to Swindon?'

Greg shook his head.

'First time for everything, then,' the Auror's eyes briefly sparkled. 'I guess we'd better Side-Along…'

A crack of Apparation later, Greg found himself standing in a narrow, grey terraced street in a town he didn't recognise. Two rows of cars double-parked either side of the rutted tarmac, leaving barely enough space for a single vehicle to thread its way in between. The buildings themselves reflected the December sky's dreary pall, squatting behind unloved pebble dash and flaking window frames, and only set back from the uneven pavements by thin, overgrown yards that could have been no more than a yard wide.

'Beautiful…' the teacher muttered, coughing as he spoke. 'I can't imagine why I've never been here before on holiday.'

'Touché,' Harry remarked. 'The house isn't far along here.' The Auror started walking, before pausing to reach into the pocket of his cloak. 'I think it's best for everybody if no-one knows I'm here. As far as you're concerned, it's a routine visit, something you're doing as a new Head of House, talking to pupils and their parents about the first term. Don't make the slightest reference to me, to the Aurors, to anything to do with this investigation, whatsoever.'

'Fine,' Greg nodded, his eyes scanning around the street before drifting back to Harry. 'What's your plan, Harry…? Harry? Where the hell are you?'

'Same place I've always been,' a disembodied voice answered. 'Just harder to spot. It's only a bit further down the road now – number 34, next to that van.' Harry's footsteps tracked the teacher's for another few dozen yards, before they too fell silent beneath a whispered Silencing Charm as the Auror followed Greg's path. The men stopped outside a peeling front door, which looked as if it might have been red before years of weathering and neglect had allowed it to fade to a watered-down pink, and Greg reached for the doorbell.

The clatter of feet against floorboards told the teacher his ring was being answered, and within a few moments a squat, balding man, no taller than Greg's shoulder and with a glaring sprawl of tattoos that covered his left arm and shoulder beneath an ill-fitting vest, appeared in the doorway.

'Yes?' the man prompted him, bluntly.

Greg tried to force what he imagined to be a relaxed smile across his face. 'Good morning,' he greeted the man. 'Professor Gregory Bennett, Hogwarts School. Just dropping by for an end-of-term visit, checking up on Max's progress.'

The short man made a noise that was somewhere in between a groan and a growl. 'Better come in, then.' He turned his back to Greg, shuffling back into his hallway whilst the teacher held the front door open for long enough to let Harry silently follow. 'Malachi,' the man snarled. 'MALACHI! Down here, now!' He thrust open a door that led to a cramped sitting room, gesturing sharply that Greg should enter.

Following the man's directions, Greg edged through the doorway, taking in the musty air that hung amidst a clutter of old furnishings and dusty blankets, whilst the dull thump of feet on the floorboards above betrayed the waking steps of a fourth-year.

'Lap of luxury,' the teacher observed sarcastically, half to himself and half to his invisible companion, the sound of footprints growing louder as their owner trudged downstairs. 'Max…?' Greg's voice strained as he set eyes on a scrawny, gaunt figure, only dressed in pyjama shorts, that entered the sitting room. The blond boy's skin was a near-translucent milk white, stretched across his ribcage, and his eyes seemed to stare into the middle distance beyond Greg's face. 'Max?' he repeated. 'Are… are you alright?'

The fourteen-year-old's answer was forced and mechanical. 'Yes,' he deadpanned, his eyes never once blurring back into focus. 'Fine.'

Greg swallowed instinctively, feeling his throat tighten and dry as he heard the boy's reply. There was nothing familar about his body language, or his tone of voice; nothing that resembled the self-confident seeker that he had got to know. 'Never be surprised…' McGonagall's advice ran silently through his head, and the teacher resolved to keep his word and maintain the pretence of an educational visit. 'Is there anything you'd like me to help you catch up on, that you missed at the end of term?'

'No.'

Greg swore under his breath. 'Do you think you're going to be ready for the Quidditch game against Ravenclaw after the break?'

'Yes.'

The teacher sighed, before falling silent as the slight disturbance of an old newspaper atop a gnarled coffee table told him that Harry was on the move. 'It was a good result against Gryffindor,' Greg decided that, in the absence of a plan that made sense in his own mind, he might as well just keep talking. 'Do you think we've got a chance of winning the Cup?'

'Yes.'

'Same here.' This time Greg paused, rather than pushing on with his ill-fated questioning, watching as a circle of skin on Max's neck folded backwards, giving away the impression of a wand tip, before fading as quickly as it appeared. 'Max…?' the teacher repeated his initial wary question as the boy stumbled, blinking as a dust-filled beam of dawn light broke between the thick curtains. 'Max?'

'Sir?' the boy echoed, losing his balance and reaching out to steady himself on the teacher's outstretched arm, before slowly twisting his neck around as if he were taking in his surroundings for the first time. 'What… I mean… how…' he glanced downwards at his own pallid chest and thin pyjama trousers. 'Shit!' Max's eyes grew wide, before the tell-tale crack of Apparition echoed into the corridor outside the sitting room.

Before either man or boy had chance to draw wands or take stock of the situation, they had been surrounded. Eight men, clad in simple dark muggle sweatshirts and black woollen balaclavas that showed nothing more than their eyes and the bridge of their nose, had swarmed the room and – wands outstretched – trapped Greg and Max where they stood.

'Malachi,' a severe voice intoned, and Greg felt the boy jolt away from the speaker, lurching back against his own tense frame. 'Malachi Archimedes Xanthus Deverill,' the voice repeated. 'Come away from him.'

'Fuck off!' Max gathered the courage to answer back, despite shivering violently as he spat the swear word.

The speaker's posture, on the other hand, never wavered in the least. 'Fine,' he dismissed the boy's defiance. 'Have it your way. You have served your purpose. Incarcerous!'

Two lengths of rope sprung forth from the end of his wand, wrapping tightly around Max and Greg and knocking the Slytherins briskly to the ground in the process.

'You know what to do,' the man ordered, leaving his fellows to seize the two bound bodies, cover them in rough hessian bags and carry them roughly out into the back of the van outside the terraced house.

Harry Potter didn't need to see the green lettering on the side of the vehicle to know exactly what he would be able to read as it pulled away.

'Ow! Fucking hell!' Greg lost his battle to control his language as the white van jarred over a speed bump, knocking his head against the side of its cargo hold. He jolted sideways, struggling to free himself from the shroud of the hessian bag, clumsily grabbing its insides with the ends of his fingers as he tried to wriggle free. 'Max…' he mumbled, shifting his jaw to loosen the gag across his mouth. 'Can you try and grab the end of the bag between your feet?'

A muffled grunt echoed from the teacher's left, and a few moments of struggle later, Greg had managed to emerge from his cocoon and begin to help the fourth-year find his own way out.

'Thanks, sir,' Max offered, and the teacher nodded his acknowledgement.

'Not really much to see out here, mind,' Greg remarked, acidly. 'Just the back end of a truck,' he sighed. 'How much do you know, then, mate? How much do you remember?'

Max looked away, staring despondently down at his own pale chest as a shiver wrapped around his body. 'I don't know,' he avoided the question.

'What about the Christmas card?' Greg pressed. 'The one you sent to Dan… _everyone will be alright_.'

The boy shook his head. 'I don't know,' he mumbled, again. 'I don't understand. Sometimes it was like I realised what was happening, and others, like this morning, it was like I was just sleepwalking through everything.'

'Imperius…' Greg muttered.

Max shivered again. 'Do you really think…?'

The teacher nodded, slowly. 'I'm no expert, Max, but everything looks like it… that or some other kind of mind-control. When I was talking to you this morning, it was like talking to a different boy.'

Max's expression crumbled. 'I'm sorry, sir…'

'Forget it, mate,' Greg brushed off the boy's apology. 'It's not your fault. It's bloody hard to resist the Imperius Curse, and the fact that you managed to send that card to Danny shows you were giving it a damn good go.'

The fourth-year tried to force a thin smile onto his face. 'I guess…'

'It's alright,' the teacher repeated his reassurance, struggling to brace himself against the back of the van as it veered around a roundabout, before letting the vehicle fall silent as it accelerated onto a dual carriageway, and Max dropped into a fitful sleep.

It wasn't until nearly an hour later, as the van slowed down to slalom through a series of tight turns, that Max fully stirred. The vehicle drew to a halt at the end of a cul-de-sac, before jolting into reverse gear to swerve into a parking garage, and throwing the two captive wizards around its cargo bay as the driver slammed on his brakes. The squeal of rubber gave way to the slamming of doors before a burst of artificial light streamed into the back of the white van.

Greg blinked, struggling to adjust to the sudden brightness, before a figure, standing a handful of yards away from the now-open doors, blurred into his vision. 'Shit,' he swore. 'Stephanie.'


	30. The Waiting Game

**Thanks very much to all readers and reviewers, especially _Este_ and _ChemicalFlashes_ \- not long to go now...**

* * *

The noise of the cell door echoed down the basement corridor of the Ministry of Magic, before Harry Potter's footprints thundered away to the elevator at the passageway's end. It had taken him less than one minute to arrest Max Deverill's father in the Swindon side street, but now, several hours later, he was little the wiser. Neither Veritaserum nor Legilimency had revealed anything to add to the Auror's knowledge, and now, with the evening approaching, he had to face the reality of explaining to the first-years, still waiting at the hospital, why Greg hadn't returned with him.

'You what?' Daniel barely let Harry muster even half of his explanation after calling the two boys into the cubicle that doubled as an office opposite the Borthwick Ward. 'How did you let that happen?' he yelled, jolting to his feet. 'You're supposed to be the best wizard of all time, and you just let them take him?'

'I really didn't have a choice…'

'Shut up!' the boy didn't even try to listen to the man's reply, turning his back on the Auror and storming from the room.

'Dan!' Albus called after his friend, but the other boy paid no attention. 'Dan!' he stood up, shouting again, before taking off to follow his friend without as much as a backward glance to his father. 'Where are you going?' he yelled, hurrying down the zig-zag of the staircase. 'Dan!'

'I don't know!' Daniel shouted back, coming to a halt mid-stairwell as he realised that Albus had followed him. 'In case you didn't notice, I haven't got anywhere to go!'

Albus clattered to a clumsy standstill beside his friend. 'Don't be so bloody thick, Dan!' he exclaimed. 'Of course you've got somewhere to go!'

'Where?' the other boy countered, shaking his head. 'My mum kicked me out, and now, and now…'

'You can stay with us,' Albus insisted, 'and even if you couldn't, I bet you could stay with Louis, or with Nath. Slytherins Stick Together, remember?'

Daniel fell quiet.

'I'm sure Professor Bennett will be alright,' Albus reasoned, 'and anyway, imagine if he hadn't have been there. What if Max had been kidnapped on his own?'

Daniel shivered.

'Come on,' Albus persisted. 'My dad will work something out. It's his job.'

'I guess.' Daniel's reply was quiet, but he agreed to follow his friend back upstairs to the Auror's makeshift office, where Albus shoved the door back open.

'Dan's going to stay with us,' he announced.

Harry looked up, slowly, from the seat behind his desk. 'Yes,' he acknowledged, impassively. 'Good plan. In fact, I think it's probably for the best if all of you stay with us until this whole thing gets sorted out.'

'Okay,' Albus nodded slowly. 'Is there anything we can do…'

Harry cut his son's question off with a shake of his head. 'Not right now, Al, but there might be, you never know.'

The Potters' family home at Grimmauld Place, tucked away along a crescent road in Islington, North London was, as Harry put it, possibly the safest house in the country. Following the Second Wizarding War, when the Order of the Phoenix had used it as a safe house, the Head Auror had improved and renewed many of the secrecy charms and intruder defences that helped hide the building from their muggle neighbours and wizarding enemies alike. In a house abundant with magic, it was no trouble to conjure enough extra space for the first-year boys to spend a fitful night's sleep.

By six o'clock the following morning, Albus had given up trying to sleep, and had made his drowsy way to the house's kitchen in search of some early sustenance. 'It's a lot easier with elves to do this for you,' he grumbled to himself, yanking a fridge door opening before deciding to settle for fruit juice rather than attempt to fry any eggs.

'Elves?' a voice echoed from the other side of the room, and Albus jerked around to see Connor's blond head, as the boy slumped in a wheelchair in the corner of the room.

'Oh, yeah,' Albus replied, stiffly. 'They work in the kitchens at Hogwarts.'

'Right.'

Albus shook himself. 'Hey, Connor,' he tried to make his voice seem as bright as was possible for such an early hour. 'Do you want a drink?'

The blond boy nodded. 'Yes, please. Could I just have water?'

'Sure,' Albus acknowledged, scurrying over to a cold tap and pouring the muggle boy a glassful. 'Here you go, mate,' Albus pulled out a chair to sit beside the other eleven-year-old. 'Sleep okay?'

Connor shook his head. 'Not really,' he admitted, looking down into his drink. 'I haven't really slept properly since the accident.'

'Oh,' Albus aimed for a reassuring smile. 'Sorry,' he offered. 'I wonder if there's anything we could give you? I don't know if magic would work for muggles…'

Connor shrugged. 'It's okay,' he mumbled, 'I'll have to get used to it anyway, when I go back, when you wipe my memory again, and I can't remember any of this, when I'll just be a kid with a broken leg.'

Albus felt his throat begin to dry, and snatched for another mouthful of his juice. 'That might not happen.'

The blond boy snorted. 'Yeah, right,' he rolled his eyes. 'What's going to stop it?' Connor challenged Albus. 'I'm not stupid… don't just lie to me cause you think it'll make me feel better!'

'I don't know,' Albus shook his head, 'but I promise I won't lie to you.'

Connor nodded. 'Thanks,' he murmured. 'It's hard to know what's true and what isn't sometimes,' he continued, still looking away from Albus. 'Everything just seems so weird. I can't believe that all of this magic has been going on in our world for so long, and nobody notices it.'

'People notice it,' Albus observed, 'but Dad says we're pretty good at clearing our tracks… look at the Loch Ness Monster. Any muggle who thinks that's real just gets laughed at.'

'You mean it _is_ real?' Connor blinked. 'Then what else? Vampires? Dragons?' he watched Albus nod slowly, before turning away again. 'Shit...' he whispered. 'This is too weird.'

The straining creak of an old door hinge interrupted the boys' conversation, and as the two children looked up, Louis' dishevelled figure appeared in the kitchen doorway.

'Hey, Lou,' Albus acknowledged his cousin, who made an incomprehensible grunt in reply. 'How come you're up?'

'How come you are?' the redhead sparred back.

Albus smiled. 'Couldn't sleep,' he answered, truthfully, as the other boy flopped into the next chair. 'OJ or water?'

'Water,' Louis answered, bluntly, rubbing his face with tired hands as the drizzle of running water echoed across the room. 'Thanks.'

Connor gazed, open-mouthed, at the new arrival as Louis gratefully swallowed his drink.

'What?' Louis snapped, noticed the blond boy's sudden attention. 'What are you looking at?'

'You… your eyes…' Connor muddled his reply.

'I think you've gone a bit Veela, mate,' Albus clarified, sensing an impending confrontation.

Louis sighed. 'I've been trying to work on the transformation,' he admitted, the menace draining from his voice. 'I think I've nearly got it, but it doesn't always work… and it doesn't go away again like it should.'

'Transformation…?' Connor risked the obvious question.

'Louis is half-Veela,' Albus explained patiently. 'His great-grandma was a Veela – they're a bit like Sirens, but from the mountains of Eastern Europe – but Louis is the first boy who's ever shown anything like Veela powers.'

Connor nodded, slowly, struggling to take in what he had just been told. 'So, what can you do…?'

Louis grimaced. 'I'm not really sure,' he admitted. 'It doesn't even work properly every time.'

'Can… can I see?' Connor ventured.

'Um,' Louis mumbled, 'I don't know if it will work…'

'Have you shown anyone before?' Albus asked. 'I mean, when you've tried to change on purpose.'

'Just Nathan,' the redhead's voice dropped, 'and it didn't really work then.'

'You don't have to show us,' the other wizard mediated.

Louis shook his head. 'It's okay,' he managed a thin smile, before downing the rest of his water. 'I have to try it sometime.'

Albus shuffled his seat a few inches closer to Connor's wheelchair, setting himself to watch as his cousin screwed his eyes up in fierce concentration. When his eyes blinked open again, Louis' pupils had swollen up into wide, black orbs, and the points of his cheekbones had begun to sharpen into ridges that led toward a sharp, curved beak. All the while, his arms and chest grew thinner, their bones more defined, before a rash of white and grey feathers started sprouting from the new skeleton as the boy's fingernails extended into talons.

Connor let out a gasp of shock, before hurriedly covering his mouth with his hand. 'Have you seen this before…?' he whispered.

'Yeah,' Albus muttered, under his breath. 'At school, when…' he hesitated.

'When?'

'When we picked on him.' Albus looked down at his feet. 'Don't say anything,' he added. 'I know.'

Connor just nodded, his eyes still spellbound by Louis' shifting figure, before a sharp screech from the Veela's beak jolted the muggle boy into losing his grasp on his glass of water, sending it shattering into pieces on the kitchen floor, and prompting another shriek as a shard of glass scored a cut across Louis' right leg.

'Shit!' Connor's eyes widened. 'I'm sorry, I didn't mean to do that, I swear!'

Louis screeched again, and his transformation began to reverse. Connor and Albus couldn't help themselves but stare, transfixed, as the cut on their friend's leg closed up and the downy covering faded away into the other boy's freckled skin.

'That's… fucking… awesome.' Connor breathed.

Albus nodded. 'Yeah,' he stammered, 'and… the cut,' he pointed to his cousin's leg. 'It's healed.'

Louis winced. 'That hurt like hell.'

'Sorry,' Connor repeated.

'It's fine,' the redhead assured him. 'I guess that might have been pretty scary.'

Connor nodded, slowly.

'Have you worked out if you've got any other powers, or anything like that?' Albus was eager to find out more, but Louis only shook his head.

'I haven't been able to hold it for more than a few seconds yet,' he admitted, 'but I guess I'll find out pretty soon.'

'Is that all you're giving us? Dog food?' Greg Bennett snapped a sarcastic acknowledgement as the tray that would pass for the evening's dinner skated through a thin hatch at the base of a bolted door. He and Max Deverill had been confined into a dark, dingy and damp box room without so much as a mattress to sleep on, or anything beyond the most basic of rations to eat. 'You have both, Max,' the teacher concluded, inspecting the lukewarm bowls of stew that sat in front of him. 'Unless you fancy playing Quidditch with the bread,' Greg bounced the roll on the hard floor, before forcing himself to gouge out a mouthful.

'Sir,' the boy protested. 'It's okay, you can have some…'

'No,' Greg cut off the fourteen-year-old's argument. 'You need it much more than I do. I've been stuffing myself on Hogwarts desserts all term, and you look like a skeleton.'

Despite the thick sweatshirt and coat that Greg had insisted on Max taking, the boy couldn't stop himself from shivering, and the teacher instantly apologised.

'I'm sorry, mate,' Greg backtracked, 'probably not the best time for a crap joke.'

'It's okay,' Max barely looked up, prodding a plastic fork into the stodgy offering. 'It's still better than being Imperiused.'

Now it was Greg's turn to shudder as he heard his pupil's stark honesty. 'Can't you at least warm this shit up?' he yelled.

'Are you meant to be a wizard?' Stephanie's voice sneered back. 'Why don't you use some fucking magic?'

' _Because_ ,' Greg shouted, 'you've got our fucking wands, you stupid bitch!' He lashed out at the door, only to receive nothing more than a bruised toe for his troubles.

Max managed a thin smile. 'If you ever tell me off for swearing when we go back to school, I'm never going to be able to take you seriously.'

'Special circumstances,' Greg couldn't stop himself from reflecting the boy's grin. 'I promise I won't tell you off for swearing if you're imprisoned by an evil psycho at the time.'

'Does detention from Weasley count?' the fourth-year answered, deadpan, and it took all of the teacher's self-control to keep a straight face.

'I'm not answering that, mate,' Greg couldn't keep himself from smiling. 'No way on earth.'

The fourteen-year-old swallowed a mouthful of the broth in front of him, screwing up his face in disgust as the mixture passed the back of his throat.

'I never want to hear you complain about school cooking again, though,' the teacher observed, before laughing as the blond boy snorted through a mouthful of the stew, peppering the plastic tray with his half-eaten food.

'I promise,' Max nodded, solemnly. 'Sir,' he changed the subject, 'do you think we'll get out?'

Greg took a deep breath. 'Yes,' he insisted. 'I mean, I'm guessing this is just Dan's old house in Oxford – it can't be that well protected – the worst thing is that no one else knows where we are. If we… hang on a minute…'

The teacher hunched down, leaning towards Max before beginning to whisper the start of an idea into the boy's ear.

'Finished!' Max hammered against the door of the box room a few minutes later, having forced the remnants of the cold stew down his throat, before waiting for Stephanie's footprints to give away her return to collect the tray. 'Hey!' he shouted as the woman's hand reached back through the hatch. 'If you think magic's so evil, how come you never cared when Professor Bennett made your TV bigger this summer? How come you didn't mind that?'

'Shut your trap, you little shit!' the woman sneered back, snatching for the tray before pausing and letting the hatch fall shut again. Seconds later, the door had swung open and Stephanie stood, silhouetted in the doorway, a sharp kitchen knife raised in her right hand. 'On your feet!' she shrieked. 'Both of you! Now!'

The two wizards had little option but to follow orders, and they slowly followed the woman's directions into the centre of her cluttered living room.

'I'm looking after you – I might as well get something back!' Stephanie held up Max's wand. 'How about doing something with this?' She flashed a modest emerald ring on the same hand.

'No chance,' Greg snapped back, only to receive a swift slap in reply, as the gemstone on the ring drew blood from the teacher's cheek. 'The answer's still no.'

Stephanie spat in Greg's direction, leaving the man to duck away as his jailer turned her attention to the other captive. 'What about you, darling?' she sneered, holding the wand out, but keeping her knife in close attendance. 'I'm not asking for much,' she simpered, 'just a bigger emerald.'

'Don't do it,' Greg interrupted again, only to catch another blow across his face for his troubles.

'What'll it be, boy?' Stephanie leered, menacingly, the blade of her knife drawing closer to Max's pale face.

'I'll… I'll do it,' he stammered, slowly taking his offered wand. 'En… Engorgio,' his voice only came as a whisper, as he concentrated the little energy he felt onto the emerald. 'There,' he murmured.

'Bigger!' Stephanie snapped.

Max sighed. 'Engorgio,' he repeated, and the woman cackled maniacally as the gemstone swelled again.

'See,' Stephanie snatched the wand back from Max's hand, before turning back to face Greg. 'That wasn't so hard, was it? No breakfast for _you_ tomorrow.'

Greg didn't reply, but even his silence wasn't enough to avoid his third slap of the evening.

'Now, back in your little hole!' Stephanie leered, jabbing her kitchen knife frenetically skywards as she herded the two wizards back into their cell, before slamming the door as she left.

'Well done, Max,' the teacher offered, letting his hand rest briefly on the boy's shoulder. 'Good spellwork, mate.'

The fourth-year nodded, slowly. 'Are you alright, sir?' he ventured, his eyes drifiting towards the cuts on the man's cheek.

'I'm fine,' Greg brushed off the concern. 'I played seven years of Quidditch, remember. I've had much worse than this.'

Max managed a thin smile. 'What do we do now, then?'

'Now?' the teacher echoed. 'Now, we wait.'


	31. Stygian Flames

The jet of green flame had barely roared into life when Teddy Lupin crashed through the fireplace into the front room of 12, Grimmauld Place. 'Harry!' the man yelled. 'Harry! We know where Max is! He set off his trace!'

'What?' the answer echoed back in chorus from the dining room of the terraced house. 'Where?'

Teddy hurried the short distance towards the source of the noise. 'Somewhere in Oxford,' he replied. 'I can't remember exactly. Cutter's Low or something like that…'

Daniel and Connor's eyes locked. 'Do you mean Cutteslowe?' the Slytherin ventured, 'Cause that's where, that's where…'

'You used to live,' Greg finished the boy's answer for him, 'and where Connor still does.'

The wheelchair-bound boy nodded. 'Yeah.'

'This isn't a coincidence, is it?' Albus took his turn to say what the adults in the room were all beginning to think.

'That'll do, Al,' his father warned. 'We'll take it from here.' He made to get up from the table and head back towards the fireplace, only for Daniel's voice to interrupt his steps.

'I want to come,' he announced.

Harry stopped in his tracks. 'Daniel,' he began, 'I really can't allow an eleven-year-old…'

'It's my house!' the boy snapped back. 'It's my mum, and it's my… my teacher who's trapped! I have to see what's happening to them – and anyway, I bet I know my way around Cutteslowe way better than any of you do!'

'This really isn't the time to have this conversation, Daniel,' the Auror tried to reason again.

'What about me, then?' Connor interrupted. 'What about my parents, and my brother? They only live two streets away from Dan's old house. What's going to happen to them?'

'I'm sorry, guys, I really can't talk about things when I really don't know enough… Hold on,' Harry stopped himself mid-sentence. 'Did you say two streets away?'

'Yeah…' Connor nodded slowly, before suddenly finding a quill and parchment being shoved into his hands.

'Map, please,' Harry instructed, his voice turning businesslike. 'Teddy, when he's finished this, get yourself over there. Change form or something – I don't care what you look like – and get yourself somewhere you can see over to the target house. Then call us when you need to. I'm going to the Ministry.' He made for the fireplace, pausing only to stop for a moment in the kitchen doorway. 'Love you, Ginny.'

Connor stared down at the untidy scribble that he had struggled to scratch out with the unfamiliar quill pen as he felt Teddy's face peering over his shoulders. 'I'm sorry,' he began, 'I can't draw…'

'It doesn't matter, mate,' the teenager assured him, 'it's good enough. Can you see across to Dan's house from anywhere in yours?'

'My bedroom,' Connor answered. 'On the top floor, at the back. You can see straight across – they've got some new lights on the top of the garage.'

'Thanks, little man,' Teddy ruffled the boy's hair, 'and I think you're right. You should be there. Let me see what I can do.'

It was less than half an hour before the fireplace at the Potters' house crackled into life again, allowing another Auror into the front room.

'Daniel Hamilton?'

'Yeah?' the eleven-year-old looked up.

'Josh Tregeagle,' the man introduced himself. 'We have established a perimeter of protective wards around your mother's house, and the surrounding streets have been evacuated,' he began to explain. 'We have also, between Teddy and I, managed to convince Harry that you'll be in absolutely no danger if you watch from beyond this perimeter. Are you in?'

'Yes!' Daniel answered in an instant.

'What about my family?' Connor couldn't stop himself from butting in. 'Are they going to be alright?'

The Auror nodded. 'All the houses on the estate have been evacuated for the night,' the man explained. 'As far as they know, it's a gas leak.'

Connor sank down into his wheelchair. 'Thank you,' he murmured, letting a deep breath escape from his lungs.

'Is anyone else coming, then?' Daniel, on the other hand, had jumped to his feet.

'I'm in,' Albus answered, instantly.

'And me.'

'Me too,' Nathan only took fractions of a second longer than his friends had done to declare his interest. 'Stick together, remember?' He turned to face his old schoolfriend. 'Charlie…?'

The brown-haired boy swallowed. 'I'm not sure,' he admitted. 'I mean, I don't really know what's going on, what all these things mean…'

'That's fine,' Daniel cut him off. 'Someone should stay here with Connor, anyway.' He turned back to the Auror. 'Okay,' he announced, 'we're ready.'

'Coats first!' Ginny's raised voice interrupted, leaving a thin smile to flicker briefly across Joshua Tregeagle's face as the Auror fished in the pocket of his robes for a dirty, tattered rag. 'Portkey budget's a bit low,' he explained as the boys gathered back together. 'Everybody take hold in 3… 2… 1…'

It was a mark of the situation that the boys knew was developing that neither of the two cousins commented on their muggle-born friends' clumsy landings at the other end of the Portkey journey.

'It takes a bit of getting used to,' Albus explained, helping Daniel to his feet before letting his eyes drift to the scene unfolding in front of him. 'That's a lot of Aurors…'

'Full call tonight,' Joshua explained. 'Everyone who can be here has to be here. No chances when the Statute of Secrecy's at stake.'

Louis blinked. 'So you think… you think it's all connected?'

'You'd have to be mad not to,' the man nodded. 'If this is Kevin Brand, I know what he was like. Never happy unless someone was afraid of him. Usually his brother.'

'Lucas…?' Louis ventured.

Joshua looked around. 'Did he tell you?'

'No,' Louis shook his head. 'I just guessed.'

'Well, you guessed right,' the Auror confirmed. 'He was a few years above us.'

A sudden burst of noise distracted the boys from the man's recollections, diverting their attention to the concrete driveway outside Daniel's old house as a pair of figures emerged from the building.

'Let us go, Potter!' a man held a wand to his throat, amplifying his voice as he laid down a challenge to the Head Auror. The four children strained to make out his face in the glare of the streetlamps, noticing little more than a trimmed rim of auburn hair that sat above a gaunt, defined nose. 'You let us go, and we'll let them go!'

'We don't negotiate with terrorists, Brand,' Albus shivered as he heard the cold tone of his father's reply. 'Release your hostages, and the Wizengamot may well look favourably upon it.'

A joyless cackle of laughter filled the housing estate. 'And spoil all the fun? Oh, Mr Potter, you underestimate me,' the man paused, delighting in the silence that followed his threat, 'for without me you cannot release our prisoners. The corridors of this house are filled with gas so toxic that just one breath would incapacitate you for a day, and should you somehow penetrate this, the cell itself is now surrounded by a Stygian Flame, through which nothing human can pass. Your move.'

'What's a Stygian Flame?' Daniel turned to Albus, but the other boy could only shake his head.

'I have no idea, mate…'

'Have you heard of Fiendfyre?' Joshua, the Auror, interrupted the boys' questions with one of his own.

Albus and Louis nodded.

'It's enchanted fire,' the redhead began to answer, 'that burns anything in its path.'

'That's the one,' Joshua acknowledged. 'The Stygian Flame is a bit like Fiendfyre… only a slightly tamer version. A skilled wizard can craft a barrier out of a Stygian Flame, and the very best can even specify what the flame does, and does not, burn.'

Daniel turned away and retched, violently. 'Shit… sorry,' he mumbled, his face pale.

'Forget it,' Albus reached his arm around his friend's shoulders. 'Dad will work something out.'

'We'll take our chances, Brand,' the Head Auror's voice rang out again, 'and we appreciate the tip-off.'

Without further warning, a blast of blue light shot out from Harry's wand, only to strike against a suddenly-conjured purpled sphere and rebound, harmlessly, into the turf at Kevin's feet, seconds before another volley of multicoloured spells burst forth from the gathered Aurors towards the fugitive's shield charm.

'Take them alive,' Harry's voice roared as the purple hues of the barrier began to fade to pinks and greys, before disappearing entirely beneath the assault as Kevin and Stephanie's bodies collapsed to the ground. 'To the Ministry,' the Head Auror commanded. 'Four Aurors with each suspect. Individual cells. Now!'

The boys watched, open-mouthed, as a group of eight men and women strode forward to carry out their orders, surrounding the motionless bodies before vanishing into the cold Oxford night.

'Now,' Harry's voice echoed out again, its tone suddenly more urgent, 'we move to recover the hostages. Is Daniel Hamilton here?'

Daniel opened his mouth to reply, only to find that the words wouldn't follow. 'Yes,' he tried to call back, but his reply was barely loud enough for Albus to hear alongside him.

'Yes,' Joshua held his wand against his own throat, answering on the boy's behalf. 'I'll bring him to you.'

'We're coming, too,' Albus announced as he heard the plans, and the Auror made no effort to dissuade the other children from following.

'Daniel,' Harry took the wand away from his throat as he greeted the eleven-year-old a few moments later. 'You were right. We need your help.'

The first-year nodded mutely in reply.

'Whatever traps Brand has laid, I am sure our men will be more than equal to them, but we need to know where it is most likely that Kevin has imprisoned Greg and Max.'

'The back room,' Daniel whispered. 'That's where, when I was grounded, M… she always locked me in there…' he felt his eyes watering and immediately looked down at the ground.

Harry paused for a moment, letting the boy's breathing slow down before lowering his voice as he continued. 'Can we get at it from the outside? Are there any windows?'

Daniel shook his head. 'It was dark,' he replied, simply.

'Well,' Harry continued, 'can you show us where it would be, in the house?'

Daniel extended an arm. 'That corner,' he whispered. 'Over there.'

'Thank you,' the Head Auror acknowledged, before turning away to return to his colleagues and discuss the next stages of their plan.

'Dan,' Albus hurried up to his friend, 'Dan? Are you alright? What's wrong?'

'It's nothing,' the muggle-born boy shrugged off his friend's concern. 'Just remembering stuff, that's all.' He wiped the sleeve of his coat across his face. 'I'm fine.'

By now, a cordon of Aurors had begun to form around the corner of the house that Daniel had indicated, each with wands raised aloft. The incantation of the spell that followed wasn't loud enough for the watching boys to hear, but there was no doubting its effect.

An oval chunk of the pebble-dash and concrete mixture that had covered the corner of the house was blasted from its place, scattering bricks and mortar on the grass verge and pavement outside.

'Greg!' Harry shouted through the flickering yellow-orange flames that burst to fill the wall's place. 'Max! Are you guys there?'

'Harry?' The teacher's voice answered back, faint against the crackling of the fire. 'Thank Merlin it's you…'

'We'll get you out of there,' the Auror called back, 'just sit tight… and don't touch. They're Stygian Flames.'

An hour later, however, as Joshua trekked back across the housing estate to update the four children – now clustered in a makeshift tent to protect from the chill of the winter winds – the Auror found himself with little progress to report on.

'They're good Flames,' the man summarised an answer to the boys' flood of questions. 'Not only are they keeping humans out, but anything touched by humans. We tried throwing through a Portkey; it turned into a burning missile when it passed through the Flames. It doesn't seem like anything that's been touched by human hands can make it through there without just burning up,' he concluded.

'Shit,' Daniel's spirits had fallen further, and the muggle-born boy had managed little more than one-word sentences for the last dozen or so minutes. 'How are they gonna get out?

'Sir?' Louis looked up, suddenly, to face Joshua, who smiled back.

'I'm not a teacher, mate,' the man answered, kindly. 'Just call me Josh.'

Louis nodded. ' _Josh_ ,' he emphasised the man's name. 'You know you said anything that's touched by humans can't get through the Flames? Well… what about things that aren't human?'

Nathan startled. 'Louis!' he shrilled. 'You can't mean…'

The redhead shrugged. 'No one else has any other ideas, have they? If they did, then they would have been freed by now. I can control it now, I know I can!'

'Louis,' the Auror cautioned. 'You're only part-Veela, still part-human. You'd burn up, too.'

'What if I transformed?' the boy persisted. 'Have you tried to see what happens if non-humans go through the Flames? What if this works? What if we can get them out?'

Joshua shook his head. 'I really don't know,' he admitted, 'but I suppose we can at least ask. Come on.' The Auror turned, leading the boys back across the closed roads to the corner of Daniel's old house, clearly identified by the flickering corner that could easily be seen from the children's tent. 'Harry,' Joshua began, only for Louis to interrupt.

'I bet I could get through,' the eleven-year-old proclaimed. 'If I transformed, then I could take the Portkey through and they could get out.'

Harry's jaw dropped. 'Louis,' he mustered, playing for time as he struggled to come to terms with the boy's suggestion. 'It's a brave idea, but how would we know? You could get killed. Your mum and dad would never…'

'Have you tried sending any non-humans through the Flames?' Louis would not be sidetracked. 'Why don't you conjure a bird, see if that survives? Or take one of my feathers when I change?'

The Head Auror nodded. 'I will try the feather,' he accepted the boy's suggestion. I will have to remove it magically, and levitate it through the Flame – if anyone touches it with their hands, it will instantly contaminate it, and make it burn.'

'Fine,' Louis didn't blink. 'I'll do it.' He unbuttoned his coat, throwing his gloves and hat to the ground, before screwing his eyes closed and focusing, deeply, on the birdlike form that he knew he could attain. Within seconds, his cotton shirt lay ripped open on the ground beside him and his Veela form stood, wings outstretched, in front of the Head Auror.

'Wow…' Albus whistled. 'He was right when he said he'd worked it out.'

Nathan shook his head, disbelievingly. 'When did he tell you that?'

'This morning,' the black-haired boy answered. 'Before breakfast, in the kitchen. Neither of us could sleep.'

'Oh,' the muggle-born nodded. 'That figures. He's tried to show me before, but it's never worked like that, not that quickly, not that well…'

'He's never done it to try and save someone's life before, though, has he?' Albus speculated, watching his father's wandwork loosen a single feather from the Veela's wings, before levitating it through the wall of Stygian Flame, into the box room prison cell and back out again. 'It's worked…'

Harry closed his hand around the feather, before lifting it upwards to closely inspect its condition. 'It's worked,' he echoed his son's verdict. 'It's singed in places, but it's survived. Louis,' he looked up, speaking directly to the Veela in front of him. 'Change back, please.'

With a loud squawk echoing around the block of houses, Louis' wingspan fell back into his shoulderblades and his feathers shrunk back into his freckled skin. Instinctively, Nathan grabbed his friend's discarded coat and threw it around the other boy's now-bare shoulders.

'That was awesome, mate,' the blond boy whispered, 'fucking awesome.'

'Louis,' Harry's voice rose again as he walked back towards the redheaded boy. 'This is your feather,' he ignored the strangeness of his assertion and kept speaking. 'It's singed, charred, burnt in places, but it's survived. This is an incredibly dangerous thing to do.'

'I'm still doing it,' Louis insisted. 'I'm not going to die, am I? They might, if we don't get them out.'

The Head Auror didn't argue, instead discarding the scalded feather and turning to conduct a whispered discussion with another of his colleagues, before heading over to shout a message through the roaring of the Stygian Flames. Within a minute, he had turned back. 'I'm going to conjure a pair of ball-bearings, and levitate them in the air in front of you. Then, Auror Boot here will cast the Portkey Charm on the ball-bearings, and your Veela form will carry them through the Flames to the prisoners. Is that clear?'

Louis nodded. 'Yes.'

'Fine,' Harry confirmed. 'Then let's go.'

Nathan lifted the coat from his friend's shoulders, backtracking slowly towards the other first-year boys as they watched their Housemate transform again, before stepping forward and clasping his hooked beak around the enchanted silver balls. 'This better work…' Nathan mumbled.

'It will work,' Albus insisted, without taking his eyes away from Louis' measured strides towards, and into, the flickering wall, before – only seconds later – Max Deverill and Greg Bennett's bodies landed on top of one another only a handful of feet away from the boys' vantage point.

'Sir!' Daniel shouted, hurriedly running towards the teacher. 'Are you okay?'

Greg blinked once, twice, his body adjusting to the sudden chill of the winter evening. 'I'm fine, mate,' he shook himself. 'A bit hungry, but fine.' The teacher snapped his head around, back to the still-blazing flames as the distinctive Veela form stumbled back out of the room that had been his prison. 'Is that Louis?' he asked, watching the birdlike figure stagger as it returned to human form.

'Yeah,' Daniel answered, helplessly, as he watched Louis collapse to the ground and Nathan immediately sprint towards his fallen friend. 'Oh, shit…'


	32. Peter Locke

'My turn to watch,' Max Deverill eased open the door of the ground floor bedroom at 12, Grimmauld Place, where Louis Weasley had lain, unresponsive, for almost two days. 'Go and get some supper, mate.'

'I'm not hungry,' Connor Norris answered back without looking up at the older boy.

'Go, anyway,' Max retorted. 'You know what Greg and Harry said. Nobody should be on watch for more than an hour on their own.'

Connor sighed, before slowly starting to edge his wheelchair backwards and away from Louis' bedside, only to be halted by a sudden explosion of sound and light. A metallic device beside the bed burst into whirring, mechanical life, and a loud coughing fit began to echo from the previously lifeless boy.

'Louis!' the two blond children yelled in unison, startling the bed-bound redhead and instantly catching his attention. 'Louis! You're awake!'

'Well… yeah,' the other boy coughed again, struggling to push himself upright against the wooden bedstead. 'I guess I am.'

'You've been knocked out for nearly two days, mate,' Connor began to explain, tentatively. 'After what happened at Oxford, with Max and with Professor Bennett… when you transformed to try and save them,' he swallowed. 'How much can you remember?'

Louis bit his bottom lip, straining to recall the chain of events that had left him bed-bound. 'I remember agreeing to go through the Flames,' he managed. 'Not much else…'

'I'll get the others,' Max offered.

Connor nodded. 'You'll do it quicker than me, that's for sure,' he observed, wryly. The eleven-year-old reached out towards a low, mahogany bedside table as he heard Max's footsteps die away. 'They said that you were awesome,' the blond boy reported, 'and that you probably saved their lives. Here,' he scrambled around on top of the bedside table, seeking out a newspaper cutting to pass to the other boy. 'Read this.'

 **FOR VEELA JOLLY GOOD FELLOW…**

 ** _…_** ** _and so say all of us!_**

 _It's always easy to look back in 20/20 hindsight and criticise, but_ Peter Locke, _Prophet columnist, has taken the time to look back on a handful of articles from the last few months in the new light of Friday's events in Oxford._

 _Certainly, we were right – at least to some extent – about the connections between several recent terrorist acts, all of which seem to have been attributed to Kevin Brand to some extent. Yet, given the extraordinary declaration of the man himself when questioned, is it perhaps time for us to think more carefully about the role of the media in covering stories such as these?_

 _To refresh your memories, here's Brand's quote in full:_ "It was all about making you panic. A little bit here, a little bit there. Wizards fearing muggles, muggles fearing wizards. Chinese Water Torture, have you heard of it? Drip, Drip, Drip. Before long the unknown would have taken its toll, and then you would crack!"

 _Yes, part of our role as journalists is to tell the truth, but the media were all part of Brand's plan: picking his targets carefully, and allowing the wave of public opinion to do the rest. Small portions of "truth" garnished with prejudice and guesswork can often be far more harmful than simple fiction. We have victimised more than one innocent boy, casting blame upon children who have simply found themselves in the wrong place at the wrong time, and demonised an eleven-year-old whose selfless actions helped bring about an end to the whole episode._

 _Louis Weasley currently lies, unconscious in bed with a collapsed lung, having risked his life to help fellow student Max Deverill and Professor Greg Bennett, Head of House at Hogwarts, escape from Brand's imprisonment. This is the same boy about whom the following sentence was written in September: "_ [Hogwarts] has once again endangered the health and welfare of its students through the admission of pupils of non-human origin. _"_

 _The full story of Friday night's rescue also involved the co-operation and support of muggle-born wizards, and muggles themselves whom circumstance rather than choice led to the front line. Whilst we reflect back on stories we may perhaps wish we hadn't printed, perhaps it's also a good time to recall an oft-mentioned quote from the late Albus Dumbledore._

"It is your choices, not your abilities, that decide who you really are.'"

Louis looked up from the newspaper as a throng of boys suddenly flooded into his room. 'C… Collapsed lung?' he stammered, feeling another cough fill his throat.

'Yeah,' Nathan answered. 'The Stygian Flames didn't affect you like they would have done if you were fully human, but they still hurt,' he explained. 'You're going to be alright, though, Lucas has checked you out so many times, and he kept telling us you would wake up soon…'

Louis managed a thin smile. 'Is he okay?' he asked, speaking slowly and making a concentrated effort to slow his breathing. 'Lucas, I mean, with his brother being arrested, and everything…'

'He's okay,' a voice called out from behind the cluster of boys, 'and all the better to hear you asking, too.' Lucas pushed his way past the gathered children, reaching into his trouser pocket for his own wand. 'Healer coming through,' he announced, 'checks to be done.' He held the wand close to Louis' shoulder, before slowly scanning his way across the rest of the boy's body. 'No Quidditch for you,' the man concluded, 'not until you're back to school, at least, but you'll be alright for Christmas dinner.'

Louis' expression brightened almost as quickly as it had faded. 'Christmas?'

'It's tomorrow, mate,' Nathan laughed, and Louis reflected his friend's grin.

'What about you, though, Connor?' Louis turned back to the wheelchair-bound boy beside him. 'Do you get to keep your memory? What's going to happen to you?'

'I still don't really know,' the blond boy admitted, 'but those two scientists, Xan's dad and Nathan's dad, want to keep trying to find out how and why magic happens,' his words began to hurry, 'and they said they needed a muggle boy to help them out, they asked if I wanted to do it and I said yes…' Connor tailed off, feeling the eyes of the room suddenly turning towards him.

The redhead smiled. 'Cool,' he nodded.

'I'm not allowed to tell anyone else about everything that happened on Friday, though,' Connor continued, his voice quieter now. 'If anyone asks, it was a gas explosion that flattened Dan's old house.'

Daniel couldn't stop himself from shivering, and Greg reached out a hand to steady the boy's shoulders. 'It's alright, mate,' the teacher whispered.

'Do you get to come to Hogwarts with us, then?' Louis turned back to Connor.

The blond boy had begun to open his mouth to reply, when an adult shout answered the question for him. 'We're working on it,' Greg explained. 'No muggle kids have ever been allowed into Hogwarts before, but no muggle kids have ever spent their Christmas helping save the Statute of Secrecy before, either.'

'Cool,' Louis repeated, setting the newspaper cutting back down at his bedside. 'One last thing,' he added. 'Who wrote that? Who's Peter Locke?'

This time Harry spoke up from the back of the crowd. 'Ginny,' he answered simply, 'or Teddy, give or take a little, if Peter ever needs to go out in public at all.'

Albus turned, open-mouthed, to stare at his parents and god-brother. 'Dad!' he exclaimed. 'That's… that's…'

'Slytherin?' Greg suggested.

'Well, it _was_ Teddy's idea,' the Head Auror expanded, grinning, 'so you're probably right.'

Albus smiled. 'Slytherins…' he began, and six more voices joined him in chorus.

'Stick Together!'

* * *

 ** _Concluding Author's Note_**

If you've enjoyed _Snake Bites_ , then please do head over to my Author Page and check out **_Lion, Eagle, Badger, Snake_** , which is the story of Greg's first year at Hogwarts and the first steps on Slytherin's road to redemption. Coming up after that will be _**Snakes & Ladders** _(only currently half-written), which the positive feedback, views, favourites, follows, reviews and interest (...and fanart?!) are certainly great motivation to keep writing!

I may find myself back for a one-shot or two in the meantime – certainly I've left a few avenues (Miranda, Rose, Charlie and Connor to name but four) unexplored, but until then I'd still love to read any reviews, feedback, questions, comments, suggestions for future work – or just hear who your favourite characters are.

I hope you've enjoyed reading this as much as I've enjoyed writing it… oh, and there are bonus points available if you can spot the reference in this final Chapter Title. It's a link to dystopic YA fiction...

Until next time,

Sheriff


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